


1985

by EvieSmallwood



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Monster Hunters, Post Season 2, Time Jump, all of our lovely mains, long running fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-01-29 04:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12623132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvieSmallwood/pseuds/EvieSmallwood
Summary: The DOE may have left Hawkins, but the mysteries and horrors have not. Darkness still lingers in the heart of Will Byers, and something else lurks in the shadows...





	1. Highway To Hell

He feels weightless.

All around him, through the blue-tinted water, there are people. The place is crowded, but under here, Will doesn’t mind so much. He keeps his eyes open despite the sting of the chlorine, until he can’t hold his breath any longer.

Will kicks up and breaks through the surface of the water, gasping. He pushes his sopping bangs away from his eyes and squints, trying to see clearly.

It’s a sunny day in August; hot and humid, meaning the pools are crowded and loud. Little kids splash in the shallow end, struggling to wade with their floating aids. Music plays from some stereo not far of. Will thinks it might be the Bangles.

“Will, watch out!”

He rounds at the sound of a strained voice, spotting Dustin and Lucas by the edge of the pool. They’re struggling to be first, teetering on the edge of falling into the water. Will swims toward them, clearing a space.

“CANNONBALL!”

Together, despite their arguments, they dive. Will winces as a fresh spray of water splashes toward him. He coughs a little, but doesn’t really mind.

“You okay?”

Mike is suddenly beside him, sitting on the concrete ground with his legs dangling in the water. He looks more alive than he has in a while; hair wet and sticking to his forehead from both sweat and swimming. He always seems to be on the verge of smiling, but right now that doesn’t apply; he’s always concerned for Will, but not like he was last year. “Yeah,” Will nods, hoping his face is sunburnt enough that there’s no visible blush. “Totally.”

“Let go, you bastards!”

Max, the ends of her hair soaked with her roots still dry, is flailing against the playful grips of Lucas and Dustin. They’re trying to get her to dunk. “Come on, Max, it’ll be fine!”

“Shut up! I told you it’ll mess up my ears!”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “You’re just being a baby,” he says.

“Yeah,” says Dustin. “If you were _really_ badass—”

“Fine!” She glares at both of them and, without any delay, dunks her head under the water. She comes up both soaked and irritated, shaking her ears out. “Dipshits.”

The two of them are laughing. “They really are dipshits,” Will says to Mike, who laughs.

The two of them stay like that for a minute, watching their friends bicker and take turns holding their breath under water (Lucas always lasts the longest, and Dustin cheats more than once).

After a while, Dustin swims over. The others inevitably follow. Max is still muttering about what ‘fucked up friends’ she has.

“Mike, I don’t mean this in a weird way, but your sister is hot.”

“Oh my god!”

Before Dustin knows it, Mike has shoved him back into the water. He comes up sputtering and grinning. “What?! I’m just being honest, I mean— _look at her._ ”

They all look, even Max (though she’s rolling her eyes). Nancy is sitting at the top of the lifeguard tower, hunched over a book. Dustin lets out a whistle and Will just _doesn’t see it._ Sure, she’s pretty, but...

For the millionth time, he wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

“Alright, that’s enough, boys,” says Max, whacking both Dustin and Lucas. “Either swim or go home because you are _so_ not spending the day ogling Mike’s sister.”

“Thank you, Max,” says Mike. “Jesus, you guys are disgusting.”

“Alright, alright!” Dustin holds up his hands defensively. “I’ll admit it, I’ve overstepped, but—oh my god, _look_!”

At first, Will is positive Dustin is pulling some prank, and when he looks back their friend will be halfway to Nancy’s ivory tower, but instead they all find their gazes locked on their sixth party member.

El is slipping out of the Chief’s gigantic Blazer, and he’s calling some incoherent reminder after her. She nods and waves, clearly not actually listening as she rushes up to them.

It’s the first time since last week that she’s been out alone with them. They’d gone to the movies, which had been the perfect way to ease her into Hawkins; a dark theatre with no talking allowed. Hopper hadn’t liked not being there, Will knows, but they’d all known it had to happen at some point.

Now she’s at a pool with them. In public. There’s something both exhilarating and vulnerable about it.

“El! Hey!”

Mike’s face is red, and he’s clearly flustered. Something burns in Will’s chest, even though he finds the whole thing as amusing as the others do.

El smiles at them and gives a small wave. “I’m not late, am I?”

She is, but they all deny it at once. El grins and settles beside Mike after kicking off her flip flops. They sit in relative silence, save for the shrieking of little kids.

Dustin clears his throat. “This is like...”

“Weird,” finishes Lucas.

“But cool,” they both save hastily. “Definitely, _definitely_ cool.”

Max nods eagerly. “I’m so glad you’re finally allowed out alone,” she says. “It was getting gross with these guys.”

Dustin and Lucas both shout their protests, while Max yells at them some more. El leans her head on Mike’s shoulder (and a small part of Will that grows larger every day wishes that were him, not her, but he pushes that away because there’s no use thinking about it).

“So, El,” he has to yell over the others a bit, “what do you want to do?”

The others quiet. Apparently it hasn’t occurred to them that since they’ve had this whole summer to decide what _they_ wanted, she should be able to pick for the last day.

She glances around, clearly a little confused.

“We could stay here,” Mike says. “Or we could go somewhere else. Whatever you want.”

El bites her lip, thinking. Out of nowhere Mike’s leg is jerked and he’s hauled into the water by some invisible force. Will’s eyes widen.

She’s laughing—at their expressions, at Mike’s coughing. “Here,” she says firmly.

* * *

She stands behind the locker room, leaning against the wall with a towel wrapped around her waist.

Nancy Wheeler doesn’t smoke, yet the cigarette between her fingers says otherwise. She tells herself this over and over, cigarette after cigarette.

Blame Jonathan. He got her started on it, somehow (or had it been Joyce..?).

She exhales out a cloud of grey. It’s one hundred degrees outside yet here she is, making it even worse for herself. _This is stupid,_ she thinks, because it is. But she doesn’t put it out; merely glares at it, frowning.

“If looks could kill,” calls out a voice, “you’d have one very dead cigarette.”

Jonathan is walking up to her, one hand holding a brown paper bag and the other immediately finding her own. She really does put the thing out this time, easily, because he’s distracting enough. All of the sudden she’s being pushed against the wall, and his lips are on her own, and it’s fucking hot outside and his skin is warm to the touch.

They’ve been in a daze these past few weeks, and Nancy is quite certain it’s the heat. The same thing happened with Steve last summer; constant make out sessions, heavy thoughts... but with him, there had been other obligations; pool parties, beer pong, and generally being more social than she cared for. She hadn’t always minded, and it had been adorable to see Steve so extroverted, having fun...

“Nancy?”

She realises that she’s gone a little limp in his arms. Her mind has totally strayed from the task at hand—not that _task_ is really the right word for it. “Sorry,” she wipes her lip, unable to meet his eyes for whatever reason. “I’m just... hot, you know?”

Jonathan grins that lopsided grin, and she knows what’s coming next. “Believe me, I know.”

She rolls her eyes, smiling almost reluctantly, and cools her arms around his neck. It feels nice to stand here, like this. He blocks out the sun. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah,” she nods. It’s a lie, but she’s so used to lying she almost believes it herself. “I’m okay.”

Jonathan nods. She watches the way his eyes shift, and she knows he’s nervous, now. He doesn’t have any reason to be. She loves him. She really does; she loves the way his eyes light up when he laughs, and the way he’s always so focused on family and what she wants; she loves that there are no arguments, and if they disagree they always compromise. She loves how easy everything is.

But then she’s closing her eyes and resting her forehead against his chest, because Jesus fucking Christ, she misses the complicated, too. She misses bickering playfully, misses the comic relief, the inner struggle. She misses every little thing about someone else while standing in the arms of the person she’s with.

God, could this day get any worse?

* * *

_Yes, it can get worse. It can get so much worse._

Hopper slumps against the front bumper of his car, eyes scanning but not reading the paper in front of him.

_What if she drowns? What if she’s kidnapped?_

“Chief?”

Callahan is waiting. He’s staring at Hopper with those dopey eyes, hidden behind glasses. God, he’s so stupid. But he’s smart when he needs to be, which is half the reason he’s still here.

“Yeah,” Hopper turns around and rests the report on the hood, signing it. What the hell is he signing? “Good work, man.”

Callahan practically grows two inches. He takes the papers, nods, and walks inside, leaving Hopper to his thoughts.

_What if she forgets and uses her powers in public? What if I didn’t wait long enough?_

“You’re brooding.”

Hopper jumps, rounding, but it’s only Joyce. She taps the end of her cigarette, grinning as she walks up to him. He needs a drag and she knows that. Wordlessly, she passes it.

“God, that’s good,” he breathes.

“I thought you hated Slims,” she says.

“I do,” he nods, “but anything is better than nothing, you know?”

He hasn’t smoked anything for a week. A whole fucking week. All because of that kid, and she’s off doing god knows what—she could be smoking, it’s not like she hasn’t before. Suddenly he feels a lot less guilty. _Little hypocrite._

“I need a favor.”

He raises a brow, eyeing her. “Yeah, whats that?”

“My sink is broken,” she folds her arms over her white blouse. “I’ve been trying to fix it for three days. The drainer thingy is all messed up.”

“Your garbage disposal?”

“Yeah.”

Something is hovering between them. It’s been there a lot lately; some dim electric buzz. Neither of them want to acknowledge it, because it’s _hot_ and _Bob died_ and _they both know better_. He doesn’t want to slip into anything with her, but it’s been so easy to almost go there.

“Should we go fix it now?”

Hopper glances at the doors of the station. It’s been so slow, lately. “Yeah, might as well.” He drops the Slim in the gutter and they walk to her car. Same old Pinto, same Kenny Rogers on the radio, same stupid excuses.

* * *

 

She can’t believe she’s actually here, and as surreal as it feels, she can’t help the sense of unease she has. There are so many people, and it’s so hot, and Mike is racing laps with Lucas.

El keeps her feet planted on the tile ground. She doesn’t want to float on her back with Max, because that just reminds her of the pool. She doesn’t want to go underwater, because the last time she did that she ended up almost drowning. Sure, she can swim; Hopper made absolutely sure of that before letting her step foot in this place—but the last time, when they went out to the lake, she felt paralysed. It was just like... like the bath.

“So... do you like it?”

Max is at her side in an instant. She always seems to know when something is wrong, just like Mike. “Yeah,” El shrugs. “It’s just...”

“Loud?”

El nods. She scoops water into her hands and lets it trickle back down. Max sighs. “You know, if you want to leave, all you have to do is say so.”

“But they want to be here.”

“They want to be here because you want to be here,” Max bumps their shoulders together. “Mike would literally fly you to the moon if that’s where you said you wanted to go.”

El laughs at that, because it’s probably true. She watches as he emerges from the water at the far end of the pool after Lucas, who’s gloating at his obvious win. He looks... pretty. Beautiful. Even when he’s scrunching up his face and flipping off his best friend.

Her cheeks flame. “Where else is there to go?”

“Shit, El, anywhere,” Max shrugs. “We could go to the movies—they’re still playing Back To The Future, and the guys have been dying to see that again. Or we could go to the diner, or the library, or—”

“Mike’s house?”

She hasn’t been in his basement for two years; every time they’ve hung out, it’s been at the cabin, or with Hopper somewhere around town. She misses the constant smell of food being made, and the blanket fort (her first home).

Max shrugs. “I don’t see why not,” and then she’s calling out, “Hey, Mike—”

But all at once every other sound dies, because a little girl is screaming and pointing in the water: “He drowned! He drowned!”

“Will,” El breathes. She scans the waters for him, finds all of her friends but him. El grabs Max’s hand. “It’s Will!”

Immediately they’re wading toward him. Max, a natural in the water, is there before El. So is Nancy. The two of them attempt to haul Will’s body out of the water, but he’s too heavy. El concentrates, blocking out all other sounds. Max and Nancy fly back against the concrete as Will becomes momentarily weightless.

Nancy gathers herself and hovers over him. She listens for his heart beat. El scurries out of the water and kneels at his side, very aware that her friends aren’t far behind her.

Nancy is pressing all of her weight against Will’s chest. Max has his head tilted back. The two of them are yelling at people to get back, but no one listens.

“Come on, Will,” El grabs his hand. “Wake up.”

_Wake up._

His eyes fly open. His pupils are so small. He leans over, coughing up water, gasping. His grip on her hand is vice-like and their gazes meet.

“I saw it,” he breathes. “It’s back.”


	2. We Are Not Two, We Are One

He’s fiddling with the pipes, trying to tighten one. His hands are covered in scum from the clogged sink, and he’s sweating a ridiculous amount. It doesn’t matter to him though; the work is a welcome distraction from his constant anxiety.

He doesn’t ever wonder where the paternal instincts came from; they appeared with Sara and he marvelled at them then, and after she died he thought they had too. Instead they re-emerged even before he found El in the woods; they took over, they drove him. And sure, he isn’t the best at times. They still fight, he fusses too much, and she’s a damn teenage girl—but they make it work.

Hopper slides out from where he’s practically nestled in the cabinets. Joyce’s back is to him. She’s drying the last of the dishes from breakfast this morning. The sun is shining through the yellow curtains, and it makes the ends of her hair glow copper.

He sighs, forcing himself to look away, to not care. _She’s in mourning._ He wipes his hands on a dish rag. “It’s fixed,” he announces.

Joyce jumps, having been jolted out of her own world. She slaps a plastic cup down and goes to inspect the sink, while he stands and works the kinks out of his back. “Got any beer?”

“No,” she runs the faucet, frown fading. “There’s some cherry soda and orange juice in the fridge.”

Hopper sighs. The one chance he has to cheat on his commitment, and she doesn’t even have beer.

The phone rings. They both jump. Joyce recovers quicker, rushing over to answer it. “Hello?”

Hop opens the fridge, inspecting the shelves. He drowns out the sound of Joyce on the phone, until: “Wait, Nancy, slow down— _what_ happened?”

 _Oh shit._ He straightens, slams the fridge door shut, and gravitates to Joyce’s side. “What’d they do?”

She holds up a finger, face scrunched. Hopper can just hear the Wheeler girl’s rapidly-paced voice on the other end of the line. All at once it becomes clear, and Joyce’s face falls. She nods shakily. “Uh huh, I’ll be there in just a sec, okay, sweetie? Just-just keep him there. Thank you.”

“What happened?”

Joyce wipes her mouth. She’s just hovering on the edges of stringing out and they both know it. “Will, um...” she closes her eyes briefly. “I guess he was under too long, and he, um... _drowned_ —but he’s fine, now, and...” Joyce makes her way through the house as she speaks, and Hop trails after her. She grabs her keys and shoes.

Hopper stops her, because she’s shaking and crying and she doesn’t even know it. “Hey! Take a breath, okay? Kid’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

She sobs a little, or maybe laughs. “Why does bad stuff keep happening to us?”

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t have any answer. He gives one anyway, though. “This is just a fluke, okay? It doesn’t have anything to do with what happened last year. He will be _fine_.”

Joyce nods, looking like she’s sobering a little, but Hopper takes her keys anyway. “Let me drive, okay?”

* * *

“How are you feeling, bud?”

Will is sitting with all of them in the back area of the supply shed, which is roomier and nicer than any of them expected. He has a towel draped over his shoulders, but he’s still shaking. He just won’t stop _shaking_.

Regardless, he whispers “I’m fine.” No one in the room believes him.

Mike bites his nails, anxiously watching his friend. He thought this was over—they all did. The past few months had been... Well, they’d been awesome; visiting El at the cabin, getting her caught up in school, D&D games, the arcade... He hadn’t been so relaxed and at peace in what felt like years. Sure, there had been rough moments, and nightmares at sleepovers, and arguments—but those were all short term things. Like leftovers from a bad dinner.

He glances at El, who’s right beside Will. She’s holding his hand, and the longer she sits the more okay Will seems to become. Their eyes meet every once in a while, solidly, and something seems to pass between them.

Mike isn’t sure he understands it; sometimes they get like this—talking without words. He isn’t sure if the connection is psychic or if they’re just similar people who went through similar things, but no one ever mentions it anyway.

He feels uneasy, looking between them. It’s not jealousy, exactly. He knows there’s nothing... _like that._.. between them. It’s just the way they’re always sort of hovering near one another, sometimes whispering and other times exchanging glances that no one else gets. It’s their ease.

He remembers the first time they spoke—after the tunnels, after she’d closed the gate. They’d both been unconscious. Hopper had been carrying her up to the house and Will had been out of it on the couch, but the minute El had crossed over the threshold they had both woken up (at the same time, the same way; eyes wide, gasping, squirming). They’d somehow ended up standing in the middle of the living room, and Will had sobbed into her shoulder. _“I’m sorry...”_

 _“You don’t have to be sorry,”_ she had replied, with a firmness and honesty he’d missed. _“You lived. You did good.”_

He doesn’t really get it; how they slipped into some sort of nonverbal relationship the minute they’d met—always understanding one another, wielding some unexplainable insight. _True Sight._

 _Like E.T. and Elliot_ , Dustin had said once. Mike thinks for the first time that he might have been right.

“I have to get back out there,” Nancy says. She glances at Jonathan, grabs his hand and squeezes. Mike still can’t get over the fact that they’ve been dating, maybe because he’s known them both for forever. It’s like watching cousins kiss. _Gross_.

His sister slips out, and they’re left alone with Jonathan. None of them want to speak. They don’t want to open the floodgates, leaving them all with unanswered questions.

Lucas clears his throat. “I’m gonna go get you a shirt, okay, man?”

Will nods. Mike feels suddenly idiotic for not thinking of that sooner. No wonder he’s shaking, he’s fucking _freezing_.

The door opens and closes. There’s a small pause of silence before someone opens it again—too soon for it to be Lucas.

“Will! Honey, are you okay?”

Mrs. Byers kneels beside Will, taking his free hand in her own and running her hands through his still-damp hair. Mike feels a small, vague tug of envy, remembering when his mom used to do the same things. When his mom used to worry, used to care. Those days are gone, though. Now all she does is sit around drinking and reading cheesy romance novels.

He thinks maybe Nancy is bitter about that, too. And maybe they both feel a little guilty, because they passed up the chance to connect with her when she was still offering.

But isn’t that the opposite of what a mother is supposed to do? Aren’t they supposed to _never_ give up on their kids?

Hopper is nearby. He nods to El, and she stands. They both step outside. Mike stares after her, an unease coiling in his stomach. _What if he never lets her out after this? What if she isn’t allowed to start school tomorrow?_

He forces himself to look away from the door, to focus on Will. Jonathan is explaining what happened to Joyce. Mike realises he leaves out the part about the Shadow Monster—hell, he doesn’t even know. Mike isn’t sure anyone does but him, El, and Will. They’d been the closest, leaning over him while he rasped the words out. “ _It’s back._ ”

He wonders if he should speak up, but when he tries to, his throat closes up. He can’t get the words out. A part of him doesn’t want to.

_Jesus, what are we gonna do?_

* * *

“You okay, kid?”

El nods shortly. Hop’s hand is on her shoulder. His lips are pressed into a thin white line, which she knows isn’t a good sign; it means he’s stressed. It means he needs to smoke.

“You wanna tell me exactly what happened?”

She doesn’t, really, but she gets the words out as best as she can. Hopper stares at her as she speaks, and with every word she’s certain he frowns more.

El leaves out the part with the Shadow Monster, because Will has told her about six times that no one can know. _Friends tell each other things that parents don’t know._

Even if she thinks Hop should know, she can’t just do that to Will. He’d never speak to her again.

“You did good,” he says, pride leaking into his strained voice.

El stares at him, long and hard. “You’re thinking of keeping me home another year.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Hopper narrows his eyes. “Stay outta my head, kid,” he says firmly.

“That’s bull!” She steps back a bit. “You can’t keep me home just because of an accident! Will is _fine_!”

He isn’t, but she can’t stay locked up another year. She _can’t_.

Hopper runs a hand over his face. “Listen,” he sighs, “I’m not gonna keep you home. I wouldn’t do that after how hard you’ve worked to catch up—but that doesn’t mean I like this, okay? It doesn’t mean it’s easy for me. I wanna take care of you, and I can’t do that when I’m not with you.”

She scowls. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know.”

They stand there, stubbornly glaring at the other for what seems like months. She folds her arms over her bathing suit, defiance locking her jaw in place.

He shakes his head. “What are we even fighting about?”

 _You like Joyce and you won’t tell her, you treat me like a baby sometimes, you didn’t let me see Mike all last week and I’m still mad._ “I don’t know.”

“Listen,” Hop clears his throat, “I’m gonna take Joyce and Will home, make sure they’re alright—I want you to go back to Mike’s or something. Keep out of trouble. I don’t wanna hear about any funny business.”

She tries to suppress the glowing feeling in her stomach, nodding rapidly. Hopper rolls his eyes and opens the door to the supply room.

Will is standing, now, with Joyce at his side. He catches her eye, silently asking: _Did you tell him?_

_No, dipshit, but you’d better._

Will deflates. The door swings open behind them, revealing Lucas. He’s holding a shirt. “Sorry it took me so long, I forgot which locker was mine—” he tosses the shirt to Will, who just manages to catch it. “Everything good?”

El nods. “Everything’s good.”

* * *

They end up back at Mike’s, which is empty other than the five of them. Karen is at a book club meeting and Holly is with Mrs. Sinclair and Erica.

Mike rubs his temples. “So you _didn’t_ tell the Chief?”

“Will told me not to,” El replies. They’re sitting in the blanket fort, which is still the same, if a little small for the two of them now. Dustin, Lucas, and Max are making sandwiches upstairs. El can just hear them bickering faintly.

Mike nods. He looks a little sick. “And... how did he tell you? Because I didn’t see you guys talk—”

“That’s... a secret.”

Mike raises his eyebrows. “Oh.”

She looks down at his hands, which are fiddling with the patchwork quilt, and takes them in her own. They’re warm. His fingers are a lot longer than hers. He’s a lot taller than she is, too. It’s weird, but it’s good. She feels her stomach churn, feels herself glow. “I have secrets with you,” she says. “Just like I have secrets with Max, and Dustin, and Lucas. Why not Will?”

“I’m not saying...” he sighs. “I just... I miss you. Like, all the time. It’s stupid, and gross, and mushy, but it’s true.”

El smiles. “It’s not gross. I miss you too.”

What was an inch or so of space becomes a kiss. It’s soft and small like all of their other ones, but it makes her heart race and her face flame anyway. Mike breaks away and rests his forehead against hers, playing with her fingers. “I’m worried about him.”

She swallows. “Me too.”

“He hasn’t said anything before? About seeing anything?”

El shakes her head. The glowing dissipates.

“Well, maybe it was just a one time thing,” Mike says hopefully. “Like a nightmare.”

“Maybe.”

She wants to believe him. She thinks _he_ wants to believe him—but Will has had nightmares before. He’s woken up screaming and shaking, covered in sweat, but none of them have ever scared him like the way he was today. This was something _deeper_.

“You two lovebirds hungry?”

Dustin’s voice drifts down from the middle of the stairwell. He’s holding stacked plates of food.

El doesn’t jump away from Mike like she might of Hop had interrupted them; it’s different with her friends. She doesn’t have to be so embarrassed—probably because Lucas and Max are sometimes worse than her and Mike, which means they’re all always teasing each other.

El grabs the topmost plate; the one that looks like it’s about to fall and shatter. There’s a sandwich, a juice box, and some grapes. Kid food, but it’s good enough.

“This’ll get you settled into school lunches,” Dustin says brightly, as Lucas and Max bound down the stairs. “There’s never really time to eat more than this.”

“Unless you’re me,” says Lucas. “One time, I ate three sandwiches in under five minutes.”

El rolls her eyes. “I bet you spent the rest of the day farting.”

It breaks them all into laughter. They settle on the couch, or at the D&D table, which is still littered with character sheets and figurines from last night’s campaign. El hadn’t been there, but Mike had given her a re-cap over their walkies.

Max sits across from her on the couch. Their legs criss cross together. “You okay, El?”

“Yeah.” El peels the crust from her sandwich. “Just... tired.”

“Well, get used to that,” Lucas pipes in. “School’s a bitch.”

She’s used to these biting comments about school from them; the work is tough, the papers are longer in high school _and_ they have to use college ruled, now—but she’s excited anyway. School means being with them for eight hours a day. It means learning, it means being _normal_.

They could all use a bit of that, she thinks.

* * *

Hopper sets him on the couch while she flicks on the TV, trying to make everything as good, as normal as possible.

“You think he’ll be fine? No hospital?”

“Kid said it wasn’t much,” Hopper replies. “His lungs sound fine, his color’s back.”

They’re sitting at the kitchen table, chain smoking regardless of the heat. A fan is blowing from the counter, and the sounds of _He-Man_ fill the silence their trepidation makes.

Joyce glances at the couch. Will does look fine; he’s sketching something, eyes occasionally glancing at the television. He’s not even coughing.

“Hey,” Hop grabs her hand, and she focuses on him once more. “He’ll be fine, okay? This isn’t last time.”

She nods, because she tells herself that every time someone so much as wakes up from a nightmare. They’re just dreams, she tells herself, but it doesn’t help her sleep.

This isn’t a dream, though.

She covers her eyes with her palms. “He could’ve died today,” she whispers.

“But he _didn’t_.”

“Mom?”

It’s not Will, but Jonathan—standing in the hallway, looking both worried and determined all at once. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says, because he knows it’s what she needs to hear.

She can’t help but wonder if it will be, because that’s just her way. Nonetheless she leans back in the old kitchen chair and takes a drag from her cigarette. She thinks of Bob, suddenly. That happens less and less these days, but often enough for her not to feel guilty.

If he were here, now, what would he do?

That’s when she realises that if Bob were alive they wouldn’t be here at all. They’d be somewhere in Maine, maybe married by now. They’d be _happy_.

She meets Hop’s eyes, which are darkened with secrets and worry and memories, and knows suddenly that she would have stayed here anyway. She would have stayed for her kids, for their friends, and for him.

_We’re in mourning. We’ll always be in mourning, because this feeling never goes away._


	3. The Kids Aren’t Alright

Bowie’s voice plays from her portable radio, which has to be angled just right to get any reception at all. She buttons up the purple blouse Nancy gave her—special, for this day—and pulls a cardigan over it.

El examines herself in the mirror. She looks... normal. Her hair, which reaches her shoulders now, is pinned half up. It’s the easiest style she can manage, having been taught by Nancy. Their hair is around the same length, and they’re working through the awkward half up-half down stage together.

It’s curlier than Nancy’s, though. It poofs up in the back more. She picks absently at the small pimple on her chin, and the way her shirt puffs out in the front. El tucks it into her shorts a little more.

She strips the cardigan off because it’s already making her sweat. It was a bad idea anyway. El slaps on another layer of lip gloss. Is it too much? Is it not enough?

Just to be safe, she drops it into her book bag, which is new, because Hopper says that’s important. She doesn’t have any books yet, which makes her nervous for some reason. What will they do instead of reading in class? Will they talk? Will she have to _talk_?

“El?” Hop knocks on her door. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

Swallowing her nausea, El pulls open her door. Hop steps back to let her out. “You look... nice, kiddo.”

She isn’t sure what she’s going for. Pretty. Smart. _Nice_. They all sound fine. But what’s _right_? How is she _supposed_ to look?

El blows a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “Thanks.”

Hopper hovers. He’s toying with his keys. “You know, if you wanna wait like another year, we can totally do that—”

“Hop!” She stomps her foot, which makes her shoes light up. They both stare at them for a moment. “We’re gonna be late,” El says.

Hopper sighs, jerks open the front door, and leads her to his car. She feels like she might throw up, and the feeling doesn’t leave her the whole drive there. Her stomach is doing backflips. She grips the strap on her book bag, bites her tongue, and tries not to think.

Instead, she worries about Will. Hop had come to pick her up last night, parking around the back of the Wheeler house because he still hadn’t had “the talk” with Karen—who, apparently, is a gossip when she drinks. And according to Mike, she drinks a lot these days. She’d asked Hop about Will, and all of the answers she’d gotten were short. _Fine. Okay. Getting sleep._

She hadn’t slept much at all; tossing and turning in her bed all night, trying to push down the nerves which kept her eyes wide open, trying to concentrate on anything else. Eventually, she’d given up. She’d put on her blindfold and gone to Mike, who was already asleep. She’d sat beside his bed until morning.

She still isn’t tired.

They pull up to the parking lot of the school. El scans the crowds of kids walking up to the building with wide eyes. There are _so many_ —somehow three times more than the people at the pool, maybe more.

“You sure you wanna do this?”

That makes her a little mad. El sets her jaw, glaring. “Yes. I can do this.”

Hop throws up his hands. “Hey, I’m just asking,” he says. “I just...” he taps the steering wheel with his thumb. “Listen, if you feel sick, or you need to call me, go to the nurse’s office and ask to use her phone. I’ll come and get you—”

“ _Hop_ —”

“If people are bullying you, you tell me. I know you can handle yourself—”

“ _Hopper_ —”

“Jesus, would you just–just look after yourself alright? Don’t be stupid.”

She smiles. “I won’t.”

He reaches over like he might ruffle her hair, but she bats his hand away. “You’ll mess it up!”

“Okay! Jesus!”

She pops the door open and hovers for a minute, one leg hanging out. _I can do this. I’ll be with Mike. I can do this_. She swallows, gives Hop one last smile, and then slips out.

She spots them almost instantly, and they haven’t seen her yet, but they seem to be waiting. Lucas is setting up the lock around his bike and Max is yelling at him to hurry up.

El does her best to look normal, clutching her bag strap and keeping her head down like most of the girls seem to do (why do they do that? Max doesn’t do that). She gives up and raises her neck, too afraid of bumping into someone.

“El!”

Dustin sees her first, grinning like an idiot. Before she knows it she’s being swept up into a hug. “This is so _cool!_ Are you gonna be my lab partner? You should be. I’m kind of a genius when it comes to science, so...”

El raises her eyebrows, because she already knows that—they all do. “I’d like that,” she says, anyway.

Dustin grins. He slaps her on the shoulder, which apparently means ‘ _awesome_ ’. She doesn’t understand that, but she’s too afraid to ask.

Mike is at her side, taking her hand. “It’ll be okay,” he says. Even though he’s saying it just to her, they all seem to perk up a bit—squaring their shoulders and straightening their backs.

“Where’s Will?”

The readiness deflates. Mike bites his lip. “Jonathan is driving him and Nancy,” he answers. “They should be here already.”

With a newfound determination to see her friend, El finds herself leading them up to the building. Kids are swarming all around them, some yelling, others laughing. It’s all so loud, and everyone is _everywhere_.

But when they reach the hallway, the crowd thins. People slip into classrooms, hoard around lockers, or run into the bathroom. Jonathan and Nancy walk up to them, flanking both of their sides, while Will joins them in the middle.

“Byers, man,” Lucas claps him on the back. “How’re you feeling?”

Will shrugs. “Totally okay.”

“Listen,” Nancy’s voice breaks over them, “Jonathan and I have English and Math, but we’ll meet back up with you guys for lunch, okay?”

“Tubular,” Dustin is shuffling around in his backpack. He calls after them as they walk away, “Have a good period, Jonathan and Nancy, we love you!”

Nancy rolls her eyes playfully, and then slows for just a second. “Good luck, El!”

El smiles. “Thank you.”

“Okay!” Dustin pulls out a few pieces of paper and passes one to each of them. “I came early and took the liberty of grabbing your guys’ schedules. Seems like we pretty much have the same stuff going on.”

El examines her own, eyes flickering over to Mike’s. They seem to match for the most part, but while he has history, she has art with Will.

“Oh, that’s a bummer,” Dustin pretends to pout. “Guys you guys will have to spend a _whole hour_ apart.”

Mike flips him the finger. “Let’s just go, okay?”

* * *

Her leg bounces up and down. She can’t stop fidgeting in her seat. First day of class and they have a fucking _pop quiz_. What kind of bullshit is this?

At least it won’t be graded, she reminds herself. Her eyes examine the passage, where she’s meant to be determining the meaning of someone’s thoughts. Usually, she’s good at this. English is her best subject, next to science—but she can’t concentrate. Her eyes keep drifting, her hands shaking.

It was easy to play it cool yesterday, to not talk, but this morning was much harder. She ended up snapping at Lucas, and now she’s pretty sure they’re fighting. He won’t look at her.

Max works her gum in her mouth, stretching it with her tongue. She circles ‘C’ because she’s pretty sure that’s right.

_You better not whore around with those friends of yours._

**Question 17: What inner struggle does Ratchet face when confronted with the news that Victor brings him?**

“Paragraph twenty...” her brows furrow together. She absently blows a bubble. “Jesus...”

_Do I need to knock some sense into you?_

‘B’. It has to be. She fills it in and realises with a rush of relief that she’s done. Max leans back in her seat, scanning the rest of the students. El is hunched over in her seat, chewing the end of her eraser. She circles an answer with certainty, easing Max’s worry that the test might be too hard for her.

They’d been working at it all summer, and even before, giving her books to read, complete thesaurus sets, and quizzed her constantly on every subject. It was lecture after lecture every Friday night, followed by practise tests—and if they were lucky, a stray science experiment.

It had been gruelling. Max had re-leaded so much she’d forgotten. She’s certain they’re all gonna ace this year, though, which is a relief.

After killing monsters and trying to keep a boyfriend, Max is pretty sure she’s ready for anything.

Her gaze drifts to Lucas. He’s finished, too, but instead of staring at her, he’s got his chin in his hand and he’s looking out the window. Max rolls her eyes, biting back a groan of frustration.

She’d just told him to hurry up. Maybe her tone had been snippy, but he hadn’t had the morning she had yesterday.

_You shut your mouth when I’m talking to you. Learn your place, Maxine._

“Time’s up!”

Max jumps. The teacher—Mrs. Allen—is rising from her chair. She starts collecting the quizzes. “I know a quiz was the last thing you wanted—especially at eight in the morning—but I don’t want you worrying. This is just to assess where you’re at.”

Max folds her arms over her chest. _Either way, we’re graded by you. Shoved into a category we can’t get out of. Stupid, smart, and somewhere in the middle._

Allen drones on, and for the most part Max tunes her out. Any of the rules she lays out now will change over the next few weeks anyway. She doodles on a spare sheet of paper and ends up ripping off a piece. _Lucas, I’m sorry._

She adds a little frowny face and embellishes it with a tear. She folds it and passes it to Dustin. “Give that to Lucas, please,” she whispers.

Dustin obliges. The note finds its way onto Lucas’s desk. He takes it, reads it, and glances at her pleading face.

He smiles, and that’s when she realises he’s too good for her.

She smiles back, but the bad feeling in her stomach only increases.

* * *

Their next class, math, passes in a blur. El finds herself copying down nearly everything the teacher says. There’s no test this time, but he does write problems on the board and calls on people to solve them. That’s when her nerves flare up again, and when she’s called on, it takes her longer than anyone else to solve her equation.

She tries to push away her worries, like _what if I bombed the English quiz_ , and _what if my teachers think I’m stupid._

They meet in the hallway. Mike grabs her hand and doesn’t let go until they’re sitting down at the lunch table—the first two there, along with Nancy, because they’re the only ones who brought lunches from home.

“How was it?” Nancy asks, stirring her pudding.

El shrugs. “Okay. I don’t like English much.”

“Neither do I,” Mike agrees.

Nancy raises her eyebrows. “Sometimes it’s hard at first, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

Max plops down next to El just as Lucas and Dustin slide onto the bench, food trays piled with tater tots. Lucas opens his milk. “I think I’m gonna try out for basketball.”

El bites into her sandwich. It makes sense; Lucas never shuts up about it, and lately he’s been playing on the court at the park. She realises they’re all nodding and humming like it’s no surprise, which makes Lucas roll his eyes. “What about you, Mike? Any sports?”

At this, Max and Nancy both choke on their sodas, laughing. Max pats Lucas’s shoulder. “Oh, babe, that was a funny joke.”

Dustin wipes his hands. ”Mike could do like, the swim team or something,” he suggests.

“I’m not doing any sports,” Mike says with finality. “I’m not the athletic type, anyway.”

“Too lanky,” Lucas agrees.

“Shut it, Spitz,” Mike throws a tater tot from Dustin’s tray.

“Well, it’s _true_!”

El grins. She loves this— _adores_ this—the way they’re always arguing but never really mad, trying to hide their grins.

Jonathan and Will arrive. Jonathan sits across from Nancy while Will finds room beside Dustin. El raises her eyebrows at him. _Okay?_

_Yeah. Just... overwhelmed._

She nods. _Me too._

Someone slaps their hands down on the table. El jumps, finding herself face to face with that mouthbreather Troy. She hasn’t seen or heard from him in ages, but here he is. He looks taller, and meaner. “What do you want?” she asks.

Troy raises his eyebrows. “Oh! She speaks!” His mouth twists into a leer. “That’s right, I remember you. You’re the _freak_. You might have hair now, but you can’t fool me.”

Nancy glares at him. “I’m sorry... who the hell are you?”

“This is Troy,” Mike says, barely even looking at him—not because he’s afraid, but because he doesn’t seem to care at all. El tries to mimic him, concentrating on her sandwich instead. “He’s our special friend. Loves roughhousing.”

“Oh,” Nancy raises her eyebrows. “I see.”

Troy looks between them all, at their careless, vaguely annoyed states. Jonathan and Nancy start talking again, and Will joins in on the conversation.

“What’s up with your girlfriend, anyway, Wheeler? She looks like she’s never seen a school before.”

Mike blinks. “What, no friends? You have to stalk now? That’s cute, really, but just sad.” He frowns sympathetically. “I’d say I’m flattered, but guys just aren’t my type, you know?”

Troy’s cheeks redden. There’s a small wheezing sound from beside El. “What are you laughing at, carrot top?”

Max gestures to herself with raised eyebrows as if to say, ‘ _Who, me?_ ’ “I just got a mental image of you fucking yourself,” she says. “Hilarious shit, really. You should go try it, I’m sure you’ll end up laughing, too.”

Troy scowls. “Jesus, you people are disgusting.”

Mike grins, showing a mouth full of food. “Uh-huh.”

The mouthbreather pushes away, shoving through mingling students to join his friends. El follows his form with her eyes. She twitches her head just slightly, energy buzzing in her brain. Troy slips on nothing and smacks his nose against the table.

El wipes the blood away, feeling a little guilty, but it’s better than just sitting back and doing nothing.

* * *

He always holds her hand between classes.

It’s nice, Nancy thinks, staring down at their intertwined fingers. _Nice_.

“You okay?”

That’s the second time he’s asked that in two days. She’s starting to think maybe she really isn’t. Again, though, she nods. “Yeah. What about you? How is Will, really?”

Jonathan leans against his locker, glancing at his shoes. “I think he’s okay,” he admits. “He’s been through a lot worse, you know?”

Nancy hums. She opens her locker door, replacing her English textbook with her science. “And your mom?”

“She’s good. She told me like three times to thank you for saving him.”

Nancy smiles a little. “I wasn’t the only one helping him,” she reminds her boyfriend. “Jesus, I wouldn’t have even gotten him out of the water if it hadn’t been for El and Max.” She pauses, still smiling. “Thus the end of my days as a lifeguard.”

Jonathan shrugs. “It was just a job. You did good, anyway.”

“I spent half my time behind the supply shed with you,” she corrects. They start moving, shuffling through the bodies of aimless students. “I’ll see you in science, okay?”

Jonathan presses a small kiss to her cheek and breaks away. Nancy stands there for a minute, watching people swarm around her, and suddenly she can’t breathe. Her hands go numb. She almost drops her books.

Nancy shakes her head. _I can’t do this. I can’t do this._

Everything in her head... it’s all too much. The thoughts she’s having, the doubts. The _guilt_. He’s always in the back of her mind, giving some stupid one liner or trying to comfort her. He was good, so good, and now she barely sees him—only glimpses of his form through his car window when he picks up Dustin, or his lone form around town. She can’t speak to him, she can’t think about him.

Nancy doesn’t realise she’s left the school until she’s in the parking lot. She pauses, realising she has nowhere to go; Jonathan drove her. She sighs, turns back to the building with resignation, and that’s when she sees it.

Chief Hopper’s car, parked in front of the gym. Nancy frowns. She marches toward it and peers inside. Hopper is leaning back in his seat, hat over his eyes. He’s _sleeping_.

Nancy raps on the window. Hopper jerks awake. He straightens and squints at her. She taps the lock.

Before she can even reach the passenger side, the door is open. Nancy pauses before she gets in, because it’s just settling in her mind that she’s getting into Hopper’s car—Hopper, who used to be intimidating and now spends his time looking after his daughter (who just so happens to be her little brother’s girlfriend).

 _Jesus_.

She slams the door closed and glares at him. “Why?”

“I was worried—”

“You need to let her grow up,” Nancy snaps. “She’s thirteen, Jim.”

Hopper scoffs. “‘Jim’?!”

Nancy holds up her hand. “Don’t change the subject. This is pathetic, what you’re doing right here.”

“Oh yeah? And what are you doing?”

Nancy pauses, settling back against the seat and glaring defiantly out the window. “Ditching.”

“Exactly.” Hopper shakes his head. “Jim. _Christ_.”

“She’s doing amazing, by the way,” Nancy says, because she knows that’s what he’s about to ask. “She had a little trouble in math, but she broke a bully’s nose.”

“A _bully_?”

“They’re everywhere, can’t be avoided.”

Hopper rubs his beard. “Why were you leaving?”

“Who says I’m not still?”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, why _are_ you leaving?”

“Don’t you have paperwork to do or something?”

“Harrington’ll take care of it,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand.

 _Wait, what?!_ “Steve?! _Steve_ is working for you?”

“You haven’t heard about that?” He eyes her speculatively, eyebrows raised, and Nancy’s heart sinks. When was the last time she even _talked_ to him? Four months ago? Five?

It’s weird, because she feels like she sees him so often. He’s always picking up the kids, taking them out. But she hasn’t heard from him, or about him. And now he’s _working for Hopper?!_ “No, I guess I hadn’t.”

Hopper leans forward and grabs a thermos. He sips, and winces, leaving Nancy to guess that it’s not full of coffee.

“I think I know why Mike hangs around the cabin so much—I mean, aside from the obvious reasons.” She sighs, pulling her knees up to her chest. “He needs someone... like you.”

Hopper gives her a sideways glance. “Excuse me?”

“A...” she doesn’t really want to say dad, because that’s never really been what Hopper is to any of them. He’s more like an alpha wolf, or lion. They look to him, just like he looks after them. “I don’t know. A father figure I guess.”

“And what’s wrong with your old man?”

She laughs into her knees. “Are you kidding? Our dad wouldn’t even know our middle names if you asked. He spends all his time at home asleep or watching the television—or bitching to my mom about politics. And she doesn’t even care, she just stands there, cooking or drinking or whatever, nodding even though she’s not listening. None of them _listen_. It’s like they’re just existing, like they gave up on actually trying to live. It’s _sick_.”

Hopper wordlessly hands her the thermos. She takes a long drink. It’s whiskey; fire in her throat. She coughs and wipes her mouth. “So it’s really that bad, huh?”

“They gave up on us.” Her voice breaks, and before she realises it, she’s crying. “Like it was nothing. It’s like they’re dead—”

“Oh, kid, don’t be _that_ dramatic—”

“No, it is.” She nods firmly. That’s absolutely what it’s like. “My mom... she used to be so... good. She was always there, and... it sucks.”

Hopper takes back the thermos. They’re silent for a moment. Nancy rifles through her bag and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Hopper. “Oh, god, not you too.”

“What? Like you didn’t smoke at my age—”

“No, it’s not that,” he takes one and lets her light it. “Fucking _Slims_. You and Joyce are a pair, Jesus...”

Nancy grins. She takes a drag, thinking of her first cigarette—which she’d actually bummed from Joyce. It had been New Year’s Eve, and they’d shared one on the front porch steps. She’d talked more that night than she had in a while, and it had felt so good to have someone listen.

“It happens to most people,” Hopper says out of nowhere.

Nancy frowns. “What does?”

“The whole... ‘giving up on life’ thing. People get old.”

“You’re not like that. Joyce isn’t.”

He glances at her, and she sees the spark her parents are missing. She feels envious for them. “We’re single parents. We’ve had shitty lives. We’ve got kids to look after—and you know, there’s the whole monster fighting thing.”

Nancy smiles. It’s the soft, reminiscent kind, which hasn’t graced her features for a long time. She thinks of gasoline cans and bear traps. Two different hands in her own. “Monster hunters,” she whispers.

Hopper laughs a little. “Yeah. Monster hunters.”

_But who are the monsters? And who’s hunting who?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a little while! I meant to update earlier, but life got in the way, and here I am now. Things are picking up now. Also: I’m so sorry Steve hasn’t been featured yet! He was meant to be in this chapter, but if I had included that part it would have been too long and wouldn’t have had a natural ending. Next chapter, though, I swear! 
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving!!!


	4. You Really Got Me

The bell is still ringing as they leave the building. Mike’s hand is in her own, and she holds on tight as they break through the swarm of students.

It took her one day to decide she hates school.

Well, parts of it anyway. She hates gym, where the girls laugh at the bandana she wears around her wrist to cover her tattoo, and the way she flinches whenever anything is thrown at her. She hates math, where she feels stupid. She hates the bullies and she hates the noise.

But she loves science. She loves sitting next to Dustin while he explains everything—patiently and calmly—and tells dorky jokes. She loves talking to them all between classes. She loves painting with Will in art (God, that had been amazing; quiet, with her best friend, watching the teacher praise him).

Her eyes find him in the crowd, standing by Jonathan’s car. They’re both waiting—probably for Nancy. He catches her eye and waves, a gesture which she returns.

El doesn’t even realise they’re walking toward someone until they stop. She barely recognises him in his uniform, leaning against a police cruiser; Steve Harrington, Hawkins’ newest deputy.

“Looking fly, Steve!” Max says.

Steve grins. “I could say the same to you little dipshits,” he tells them, absently straightening his badge. “So how was the first day? Make any new friends?”

Dustin is already walking to the passenger side door. Steve ruffles his hair as he passes.

“It was shitty,” they chorus simultaneously.

“Besides, you’re the only friend we need,” Max says. “So can I drive?”

Steve laughs. “Hell no, Red, I just got this thing!”

Max deflates. “What’s the point of sucking up to you if I can’t use your shit?”

“Steve, we’re gonna be late!” barks Dustin, tapping the roof of the car.

“Late?” Max looks between them. “Where are you going?!”

“Dinner with Mrs. Henderson,” Steve replies smoothly. “God, I’ve been looking forward to this _all week_. Claudia can make a mean steak.”

“But you said you’d take time to the arcade today,” Max’s cheeks are reddening, and if El knows anything about her friend, it’s that a flushed face isn’t a good sign with Max.

But the glistening eyes tell her that Max isn’t about to start yelling; she’s about to _cry_.

Lucas frowns, reaching out for her hand, which she pulls away. “Max?”

“Hey, kid,” Steve steps a little closer, just as El jerks Mike away from the scene, “I’m sorry, I just forgot—”

“No, it’s fine,” Max’s voice wavers. “I’m just gonna... I’m gonna go...”

“You can come home with me,” Lucas says, and he says it firmly. “We’ll study, or something. I haven’t spent time with you in days, anyway.”

All at once the tension deflates. Max nods, swiping her pale hand under her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s just...” she gestures vaguely to her stomach area. All the boys groan, averting their eyes.

El and Max roll their eyes together. “You guys are such babies,” Max spits.

“They wouldn’t be able to handle it,” El tells her.

“Hell no.” Max drops her board and steps on it. “We going, or what, honey bunch?”

Lucas grins. “Yeah, totally. See you, nerds!”

“Bye, Lucas!”

Steve taps his watch. “Well, ladies, I gotta run.” He ruffles both El and Mike’s hair, and El doesn’t mind because she can’t wait to take out all of the bobby pins and clippies anyway. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dustin is already in the car, fiddling with all of the controls. Steve is about to duck inside when his name is called.

He freezes, eyes locking onto Nancy, who’s standing about ten feet away. Her cheeks are flushed, and so are Steve’s. “Hey, Nance—Nancy.”

“God...” she looks him up and down. “You’re...”

“Jesus,” Mike throws his head back.

“ _Shut up._ ”

“Steve! Come _on!_ ”

Steve raises his hand, probably meaning to wave. Nancy mimics him. Then he’s ducking inside the car. The engine revs to life, and he peels out of the parking lot.

It leaves the two of them alone, because Nancy is running up to Jonathan’s car and getting inside. Mike looks down at her. “So... what do you wanna do?”

El shrugs. “Hop doesn’t get off ‘til five. We could go see a movie?”

He studies her. “Is that what you really want?”

“Honestly?” She bites her lip. “I’d rather go to your place. Do homework, watch MTV...”

Mike nods, smiling. “That sounds awesome.”

* * *

Will is ducked over his sketchbook, shading rapidly. The water in the picture looks so real, he thinks if he touches it, it might ripple.

“You missed science,” Jonathan says. It’s the first thing anyone has said since they got in the car, which is pretty depressing.

Everything is depressing these days. Everything he draws, everyone he’s around. Fucking _going to the pool_ —he can’t even do _that_ anymore.

“Yeah,” Nancy swipes some hair behind her ear. “I was, um...”

Will looks up, wide eyed, because that’s the first time he’s ever heard Nancy unable to think of a lie. “She was with me,” he blurts, and then wonders why on Earth his reaction was to cover for her. 

Jonathan frowns at the both of them. “What? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Will says, “I was just... getting picked on, you know?”

Nancy meets his eye in the rear view mirror. He can see a million questions churning there, but he doesn’t care. If she wants to lie to his brother, it better be for good reason. And he’s absolutely gonna find out what that reason is.

“Oh,” says Jonathan, and once again they settle into silence.

_Jesus ever-loving Christ..._

He can’t take it. He can’t take their strained conversation, or the lapses of quiet in between their words. He lets himself fade out—even if he doesn’t want to. He relinquishes the constant, exhausting hold on his conscience just as he had yesterday.

_There’s blood. So much blood. On the floor, the walls—even the ceiling. It slides down in drops, pooling... Pooling from her. From them._

_Her screams still echo even if she’s long gone. “Help me! Help me! Please help me, please!”_

_There’s desperation in her voice; she sounds crippled, like she knows no one is coming but cries out anyway because it’s all she can think to do._

_Somewhere else, somewhere nearby—in an adjacent hall, or another wing (Wing?), shadow pools from a vent. It coils, forming one long arm-like limb, reaching for her cooling corpse._

_It’s not over. It never will be._

“She’s going to die.”

“What?”

The words are out of his mouth before he can process the fact that he’s awake again. He draws in a deep breath, quickly. “She’s going to die.”

The car jerks to a stop. They’re home, Will realises. He blinks dazedly.

Jonathan rounds on him. “What are you talking about? Will?!”

Will swallows. They’re looking at him like he’s crazy, and he can’t handle that. Panic rises in his throat as he realises how insane he actually sounds—how insane all of this really is. _There was so much blood. So much..._ He wants to tell them, but he knows they wouldn’t understand. He knows all it would do is put them in danger. _El_ doesn’t even know.

“Will?” Nancy’s brows are furrowed. She reaches out and grabs his hand, but he jerks away. She feels so _warm_.

It’s then that the panic takes hold. Will is hyperventilating as he jerks the car door open desperately, running up to the house. Jonathan and Nancy scurry out after him.

Will bolts down the hall and slams the door to his room. He leans against it, closing his eyes, but that doesn’t help because there it is—looming over him as she screams and screams and screams—

“Will! Open up!”

They’re pounding on the door. Will jumps away from it. He sobs, stripping off his jacket because he likes it cold he likes it cold he likes it—

“Will... Just... I need to know if you’re okay. Please.”

There’s a beat. Will tries to stop crying, to get control over himself, because he just can’t do this again.

He’s already evaded death three times. _Maybe dying is my destiny. Maybe I’m not supposed to be here._

That opens the floodgate; his mind is suddenly a rush of darkened, rotted thoughts he hadn’t even known were there.

_Help me. Help me..._

Will sinks to the ground, wrapping his head in his arms, just as his brother does the same on the other side of the door.

* * *

They end up sprawled out on Mike’s couch in the basement, with a bag of liquorice nearby and the radio on.

“So... x equals twelve?”

Mike scans his own paper. “Yeah. I think.”

El nods. She’s already pencilling in the next problem. He grins at the sight of her tongue poking out, brow furrowed. He realises he’s been staring too long when she looks up and catches him at it. “What?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs. _Everything_. “You’re just cute.”

He forces himself to look at his paper. She echoes the word in a whisper, and he knows she’s smiling. Their knees bump together and he blushes.

“Mike! Mike!”

His head snaps up. Holly is bounding down the stairs, pigtails flying behind her. “Mike! Look!”

She thrusts a paper onto his lap. It’s stick figures, and a few smudges of paint, but he smiles anyway. “It’s great, Holls.”

Holly grins. “Mommy said so too,” she says. “You can have it, cuz you mean it.”

He blinks. _Jesus Christ_. All of the sudden he’s angry, because she’s five fucking years old and she shouldn’t know that her mom doesn’t care anymore. He swallows that anger, though, and smiles. “Thank you.”

“Who’s that?”

Holly points at El, even though she’s right there. It feels surreal; some weird merging of two aspects of his life—opposite poles meeting in the middle. “That’s El,” Mike says. “She’s cool.”

El smiles and gives a little wave. “Hi.”

“You’re pretty.”

“Shes right,” he says to El, who’s blushing. “Hey, Holly—why don’t we put this on the fridge, okay? That way everyone can see it.”

Holly nods earnestly. “I want Nancy to,” she tells him, taking his hand.

Mike glances at El. “You want anything? A soda?”

El shrugs. “Water’s fine.”

He nods, following his sister who bounds up the stairs with the ridiculous energy of a little kid. He pretends to chase her into the kitchen and scoops her up when they get there. She squeals, giggling, and he carries her over to the fridge. “Alright, Holiday,” he says, grabbing a magnet. “Dead center.”

Holly cups his cheeks. “Dead center,” she repeats firmly, but obliviously.

“Mike?”

His mother is on the stairwell landing. He pushes down the bubbling up irritation at the sight of her, setting Holly down. “Hey, Mom.”

“I thought you wouldn’t be home until later,” she smiles, pulling out her earrings, and he thinks that maybe there’s hope. “Did you have a good first day?”

“Yeah, it was okay.” _It sucked. Would you believe me if I told you I spent the whole day wanting to vomit?_

“Mike has a girl in the basement!” Holly says brightly, still holding his hand. “Her name is El, and she’s pretty. I like her. You should meet her, mommy—”

His mom raises her eyebrows. “A girl?”

“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler.”

His eyes widen, and suddenly the two worlds collide more rapidly. El is standing in view, smiling up at his mom. He’s suddenly worried his mom won’t like her, but who _can’t_ like El?

His mom, for her part, looks a little stunned. _Oh, that’s nice._ “Hi, sweetie. I’m... I’m Karen.”

El nods. She already knows that. She’s known that since they were a foot shorter and she lived in the basement. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs: _This is her! This is the Russian!_

_Save it for dinner, Wheeler._

“Well, I’m gonna run myself a bath,” his mom says, eyes flitting between them. “There’s leftover mac and cheese in the fridge, if you’re hungry.”

Mike watches her retreat up the stairs. As soon as she’s out of sight, he sags against the fridge. “She really doesn’t care,” he breathes.

“She seems nice,” El defends.

Mike picks up Holly and sets her on the counter. “Two years ago, she would have asked you to stay for dinner.” He rifles through the cupboards, looking for a small bowl. “She would have made the mac and cheese herself, started baking, straightened the pillows because she’s self-fucking-conscious and ridiculous, but it would have been _nice_.”

He slams a drawer. Holly and El jump. Mike sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

El’s at his side in an instant, gently taking the ceramic bowl and setting it on the counter. “Just relax, okay?”

Mike shakes his head. His eyes flit to the empty landing. “Two years ago? She would have spied on us this whole time.”

They both laugh, which makes Holly giggle even though she doesn’t know what’s funny. He goes to the fridge and scoops her some yogurt, which she takes with relish.

“Mike?”

Lucas comes jogging up the basement stairs, Max not far behind him. Mike puts the yogurt back in the fridge, rolling his eyes into the cold freezer. “There’s a front door.”

“I thought you’d be in the basement,” he replies. “Did you get the homework done?”

“Pretty much,” says El.

“We finished ages ago,” Max says, leaning against the counter. Mike hands her a soda and passes one to Lucas.

“So what have you been doing?”

They exchange glances, blushing. Max taps the top of her coke can. “Alright! We made out a bit!”

“Max!”

“Oh my god, it’s not like they don’t do the same thing.”

Mike glances at El, who seems preoccupied with her socks. “No. No way. We’re not gross like you.”

“Making out isn’t gross,” Lucas protests. “It’s an expression of love.”

Max chokes. “Um—what?”

“ _Affection?_ ” Lucas corrects.

“Alright, alright! My three year old sister is in the room!”

“ _Five_ ,” Holly corrects loudly, as she always does.

“You’ll always be three to me,” he tells her. “Finish your yogurt.”

* * *

He knocks on the door, glancing behind him at the road. No one seems to be watching, which eases only some of his nerves.

The door swings open, and there’s Karen Wheeler—dyed blonde hair pinned up, smile fading from her face at the sight of him. “Chief! Is-Is something wrong?”

Hopper shakes his head. “Nothing bad,” he takes off his hat. “I’m just here to pick up El.”

Her eyes widen. She looks him up and down. “I’m sorry—what?”

“El? My kid?”

“You have— _what?!_ ”

Hopper finds himself brushing past his stunned former classmate. “I’ll just check the basement,” he says, leaving her sputtering on her own doorstep.

Hopper makes his way to the downward stairwell, which he knows by now, after visiting the Wheeler kid a fair few times last year. He knows that Karen is just behind him, questioning and worrying, just like she did back in the day.

“Lucas, I swear to god—don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me—FUCK!”

There’s a loud buzzing noise. Hopper drops particularly hard on the next step, knowing it’ll creak. They all look up.

Max’s face flushes. She drops her fake pliers, and they back away from their game of Operation. “Hopper,” the boys mutter.

El is already scooping up her backpack and books. She kisses Mike on the cheek, which makes Hop roll his eyes, but then she’s at his side and he’s ruffling her hair, and they’ve both survived this first day. “Hey, kid. How was it?”

She shrugs. “Okay.”

He knows that it must have sucked; of course it did, it’s high school—but he hates that her expectations have been let down. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah—”

“Hey, can I have a ride too?”

Max is standing, waiting expectantly with her backpack over one shoulder.

Hopper closes his eyes momentarily, wondering just when it was that he became a taxi service for these kids.

But she doesn’t even wait for him to say yes, she’s already moving past him, pulling El along. “Thanks, man, you’re the best.”

Karen is still there, watching the two girls ascend the stairs with wide-eyed wonder. She glances at her son. “I-I’m very confused.”

Hopper sighs. “So am I.”

* * *

“WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS, WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS—”

The radio station flicks off, but all El has to do is snap her fingers and it’s back on—the sound blasting through the speakers in the Blazer. “WE ALL WANT SOME FIGGY PUDDING, WE ALL WANT SOME FIGGY PUDDING—”

“Jesus, you two, it’s _September_ —”

“WE WON’T GO UNTIL WE GET SOME,” they sing loudly. El is right beside him, matching harmonies with Max and grinning at the sight of Hop’s twitching lip.

“WON’T GO!” Max yells. “WON’T GO!”

El laughs. They pull up to the curb about three houses down from her own, as she’d requested about seven times. Max reaches out and turns the radio down, panting. She throws her arms around El. It’s their first real hug, and it’s... it’s different, but it’s good. Really good.

“I had fun,” Max says. “And I’m really, really happy every day gets to be like this.”

“Jesus, I hope not,” Hopper mumbles.

They both stick their tongues out at him. Max refocuses on El and squeezes her hand. “I love you.”

No one—aside from Hop, once, when he thought she was sleeping—has ever said that to her. It makes her heart feel warm, and she doesn’t care that Hop is right there, because she cares about them both so much anyway. “I love you, too,” she says.

Max smiles, and then she’s jumping out of the truck and skating down the sidewalk to her house.

“That was cute,” Hop says, once they’re driving again.

El gives him a look. “You’re a sap,” she says.

He grins, shakes his head, and turns up the radio. This Christmas song is softer, more... _melodious_. It reminds her of last December, when she and Will had caught Hop and Joyce slow dancing to it. She hides a smile, looking out the window as they drive past trees, trees, and more trees.

That’s when she sees it; blue—impossibly bright—fluttering skyward. It seems to glow.

 _Kali_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was pretty much 100% filler, but I had fun with it. Please give some feedback!


	5. We’re A Happy Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been ages! I’m back at it again at the Krispy Kreme with another chapter.

The floor creaks beneath her as she paces. El gnaws lightly at a hangnail on her right hand, mind racing a mile a minute.

_How did she find me? Should I tell? What do I do?!_

“You okay, kid?”

El starts. Hop is standing in front of the sink, holding a dish rag and frowning at her. She blinks. “Yeah. Just... hungry.”

_Friends don’t lie._

“Well, we got dinner with Joyce in half an hour,” he turns back to the sink, washing the dishes that have piled up over the last few days. “Cool your jets, okay?”

It’s Friday. “Right.” El goes back to gnawing, but takes it to her room. She sits on her bed and glares out the darkened window. A part of her wants to see it again, to make sure she isn’t crazy, but she also wants to forget about it forever.

With a twitch of her head the curtains are shut. She absently wipes her nose as she draws her knees up to her chest.

_Think about something else. Anything else._

School. School had been okay. Harder than she’d thought, but the homework had been easy with Mike helping. And Holly. She’d heard about Holly but never met her—or Karen for that matter. El had decided that she liked them both, no matter how much Mike complains.

Will. That’s another issue, more pressing than some stupid butterfly. He’d been quiet all day, and just after school let out she’d gotten some sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knows something is wrong with him, and she’s determined to find out what.

* * *

There’s nothing wrong with him.

He’s said this, maybe seven times, but Jonathan won’t believe him. He stares at his brother over the bowl of mashed potatoes—which his mom has finally mastered—but averts his eyes whenever Will catches him looking.

The atmosphere is tense. Jonathan is sitting beside his mother and El, who seems unusually rigid. She, too, won’t stop looking at Will. She’s barely touched her food.

“I thought you were hungry,” Hop says to her.

El seems to snap out of some daze. “Yes,” she says, and stuffs her mouth with broccoli.

His mom looks between them all. She sets down her cup. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” the three of them chorus. Will and El scarf down more food.

Jonathan doesn’t even remember when these dinners started. Maybe in March—when El had apparently gotten fed up with staying in the cabin all of the time. The first few dinners had been the result of a compromise, and so the Byers had gone to the cabin—but as soon as Jonathan’s mom had offered to host them, the location changed for good.

It’s weird, sitting here with two people he’s known his whole life and another two who feel almost like total strangers. Hopper is so guarded, and El barely speaks a word around Jonathan.

Things are always awkward; Hopper and his mom, who try to focus on the kids, even though their attention always seems to end up slipping to one another anyway. Then there’s Will and El—who pass the salt and pepper for one another without having to be asked.

Jonathan, for the first time in his life, actually feels like the only normal one.

 _If only Nancy had stayed_ , he thinks bitterly, stabbing his fork into his chicken. Of course she’d left—sputtering excuses and glancing at Will’s door, pale and uneasy. He’d watched her go and felt a small twinge of envy—at least she could escape _sometimes_.

“So how was school? Anything interesting happen today?”

Jonathan chokes on his drink, Will bites down too hard on his fork, and El drops her glass a little too soon. It lands on the table with a thud.

“Nothing,” they say.

_Fuck, we need to talk._

* * *

“Did you know the chief has a daughter?”

Nancy shuts the front door behind her a little too loudly. Her mother, who’s sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine and the newest edition of Southern Living, winces visibly.

Nancy swallows. _Not today. Not after the day I’ve had. Please._ She sets the keys in the designated bowl and frowns at her mother. “You mean El?”

Karen raises her eyebrows. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

“I mean, I guess,” Nancy shrugs. Images flash before her eyes—two years ago, when they met the first time, and Nancy had asked about her dress. Last year, when she’d walked through the Byers’ front door after killing that _thing_ with her _mind_. “She’s a pretty cool kid.”

Her mother isn’t satisfied. “So you just... elected not to tell me about this?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because she’s dating your brother!”

Karen’s voice comes out in an irritated hiss and it takes everything in Nancy not to start laughing. _Dating_. She’d never actually thought of what Mike and El do as anything close. It’s not like he takes her out, anyway. Hell, he still has to beg Nancy for arcade money. “They’re not.”

“What?”

“ _Dating_ , mom. They’re just... really good friends.”

“How do you know that?”

“Mike told me,” Nancy replies easily. She goes over to the kitchen peninsula and picks up an apple, but doesn’t take a bite. She’s not even hungry. She wants nothing more than to go upstairs and sleep forever, but she can’t do that.

Karen rises from her chair. She brings her empty plate over to the sink. “Since when do you and Mike talk?”

“Since we live in the same house? And share DNA?”

Her mom rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I guess.” When had that started, exactly? After the second fight ( _battle?_ ), Nancy supposes—when she’d realised this was one too many times her brother could have died, and it had dawned upon her that they’d both wasted a whole year wallowing in their own shit when they were going through the _exact same thing._ “Well, I’m gonna—”

“So when did they meet? What do you know about her?”

 _Jesus Christ_. “I... I know that she used to live in the city,” Nancy lies, wracking her brain for the cover story details they’d all made up. “I know that her mom is sick, and that’s why she’s living with Hopper now. Apparently he didn’t know about El, and then she found him like last spring or something.”

“And that’s when she met your brother?”

“I think so.”

Karen nods slowly. “Cancer sick?”

“Brain-dead sick,” Nancy corrects.

That familiar sympathy washes over her mom’s face—the kind Nancy has missed so much. She wants to hug her mother, or yell at her, or something. Maybe scare her enough that the expression freezes on her face and stays forever, because it’s so real and raw. It’s nothing like the blank stare she wears these days.

Instead, Nancy looks away. “I’m just gonna...” she gestures toward the basement and then heads down there, closing the door behind her.

“Mike?”

There’s no response, but Nancy descends the stairs anyway. There only source of light is the lamp in the corner, which he’s sitting by, listening to his Walkman.

Nancy rolls her eyes. She walks over to the couch and throws the apple at him before sitting down.

Mike jumps, does a double take, and then pulls off his headphones. “ _God!_ What the hell?”

“What’re you working on?”

She leans over, intrigued, and instead of covering the papers up or something he actually shows her. “New campaign details,” he says. “I was thinking... Maybe it’s stupid, but it’s been a while and you used to be really good—”

Her eyebrows are raised. “You want me to play with you?”

“Well—maybe.” He bites his lip. “It would just be a small part, like an hour or something—”

“No, I’ll do it.”

Mike brightens. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” She’s starting to realise she’d do just about anything for him, and for Holly. She doesn’t know when she assumed that self-sacrificing role, or how, but she knows she doesn’t really _mind_ it. Especially when it makes him smile as big as that.

She hates to kill that look, but she can’t keep it in. Nancy glances at the stairs to make sure no one is there and then shifts. “Listen... something happened with Will today.”

Mike frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean... We were on our way home from school, and he fell asleep in the back of the car. When we got there, he woke up, and he said...”

She hesitates for a minute, unsure how to phrase it. Mike gestures for her to continue. “Said what?”

“‘She’s gonna die’.”

Nancy waits for a reaction, but nothing aside from general befuddlement comes. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Mike shakes his head. His brows are scrunched together, which means he’s thinking. “He didn’t say who he was talking about, or what he meant?”

“No. We asked, Jonathan and I, but he wouldn’t answer—and then he ran into his room and started crying. He wouldn’t let us in. We sat there for like _two hours_ trying to get him to open the door, Mike. It was seriously concerning.”

Mike pales. He looks like he might be sick, which worries Nancy. “Shit...”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It must have been a bad dream,” he says, desperation clear in his voice. “You said he fell asleep, right? It was probably just—”

“Mike, you didn’t see him,” she shakes her head. “He looked... scared. Really, _really_ scared.”

“ _Shit_.”

* * *

“These sweet potatoes are so good, Mrs. Henderson.”

His mom preens like a cat, giggling and telling him to stop, her cheeks red. Dustin loses his appetite right there and then. God, it’s just a uniform.

More potatoes find their way onto both of their plates, and Dustin’s irritation fades, because they really are pretty good.

“So how was school, Dusty?”

He thinks about how his friends had all seemed at peace with each other, how El and Mike are always absorbed in each other and Lucas and Max are either fighting, broken up, or making out. Today was pretty much all three.

The only outcast left besides him is Will, and Will barely talks anymore. He always looks so tired.

“It was okay,” Dustin says after a second, peppering his green beans some more. “Pretty easy.”

His mom nods, like she expected this answer, but then her mouth twists into something a little more coy. “Any girls?”

Dustin nearly chokes on his food. _God_. “Mom!”

“You little stud,” Steve teases, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Dustin bats him away.

His mom laughs at them. Dustin watches how her eyes light up when Steve is here, when she sees the two of them together. There’s a warmth in the house that hasn’t been present since dad died—which no cat or demodog could imitate—but somehow Steve managed to.

“And your first day on the job?”

“Oh, today wasn’t my first, that was yesterday,” Steve says. “It’s pretty much all been reports so far—grunt work, the stuff Callahan and Powell don’t want to deal with.”

Dustin grins. “He’s basically a glorified secretary.”

Steve shrugs. “Pretty much.”

They settle into a comfortable silence. The TV is on in the living room still, and his mom’s cat is purring under the table for treats.

Dustin pushes his food around on his plate. He hates what he’s become; a walking mess of self-pity, disguised by stupid jokes and winning scores at the arcade and _Steve_ —but he really feels so ridiculously alone. They both do, which is maybe why they hang around each other so much. A horrible thought occurs to Dustin, which he swallows along with his potatoes.

After dinner, his mom takes a bath. Dustin and Steve settle in front of the TV, playing on his Atari.

“So... are you gonna like, stop talking to me when you get a new girlfriend?”

Steve is so startled he jerks the control stick all the way forward. The ball he’d been trying to block slips through the cracks, but he doesn’t seem to care. “ _What?_ ”

The game pauses. Dustin blinks and turns to Steve. “I just... I don’t know. Mike has El, and Lucas has Max, and they used to be my best friends ever, right? Like, we did everything together. And now that’s you and me, so I guess I just... I’d just like some warning, or whatever.”

Steve is gaping at him. “You think I’d stop talking to you?”

“Well... I don’t know... Maybe...”

“No _way_ , man.” Steve scoots a little closer, resting one arm on his knee. “You’re like, the coolest little dude in this town, okay? You’re...” He struggles for a minute, trying to find the words. “You’re like my little brother, or whatever.”

Dustin blinks, because his eyes are starting to get wet and he can’t really see, but he doesn’t mind. He wipes his cheeks. “For real?”

Steve punches his shoulder with a grin. “For real, man.”

* * *

“Okay. Talk.”

They’re sitting on Will’s bed, staring up at Jonathan. Through the paper-thin walls El can hear the sounds of the movie Joyce and Hopper are watching. _One Flew Over The Cookoo’s Nest._ It hadn’t looked interesting to either El or Will, and so they’d gone in his room. She’d been about to ask him when Jonathan slipped in.

“I’m _fine_ , Jonathan.”

“No you’re _not_ ,” El says firmly. She knows that. She also knows that she can trust Jonathan, because Will does. “Would you just stop lying?!”

Will recoils away from her, eyes wide. She’s never really gotten mad at him before; they’ve always had some deep understanding, a connection. But she’s sick of his shit—more sick of it than she ever was of Hop’s, because he’s _dying_ inside and she can feel that happening too. 

She can feel it right now, as they sit; as Jonathan stares at them with raised eyebrows and Will struggles to draw in breaths.

“I...”

They wait. El softens and grabs his hand. “ _Please_ , Will.”

“It’s not over,” is the first thing he blurts out, and tears are already spilling over. “I feel it. All the time.”

Jonathan steps closer. “You feel what?”

“ _It_. Inside of me—in my head.”

El and Jonathan exchange glances. “The gate...” she swallows, ignoring her own tears. “It’s _closed_ , Will.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s still here. It’s in this room with us and it’s _watching_ us.”

He starts to really cry, and so Jonathan swoops in. El withdraws her hand, scanning the room. There’s nothing but scattered clothes and books and crumpled up paper.

“Get off of me! Just _get off!_ ”

Will breaks away from Jonathan, scurrying out of bed. He stands, pacing the length of the room. They follow him with their eyes, equally stunned. Will doesn’t act like that. He doesn’t _yell_.

“Will...” she shakes her head. “What can we do?”

“We just wanna help you.”

“You can’t help.” He’s moving furiously, and sweating, too. “You should just leave.”

El won’t, though. She won’t leave him like this and she knows Jonathan won’t, either. Instead, she moves toward him. “Maybe...”

It’s not even an idea; just... instinct. She learned that word from Hopper, last year when he’d first found her. “ _Guess you were just surviving on instinct_ ,” he’d said.

El puts her hands on either side of his head. Will freezes. She closes her eyes, feels around in her subconscious for the mental connection they share and then grips it tightly. Will jerks a little.

A part of her is panicking, because she’s never done this before, but she also knows she _has_ to do it.

Darkness swallows her. She plunges into something deeper—into _his_ mind.

There’s something wrong.

She senses that immediately; just under the layers of thought in Will’s head—his worries, his anger, his fear, all mingled together to form white noise—she can _feel_ it.

It’s wrong. It’s unnatural. It shouldn’t be here. It’s like poison, leeching off of his happiness and goodness, which there’s so much of, but it’s dwindling.

Will is screaming. In his head and out loud.

The thing—the monster—rushes at her; coiled black smoke, heading straight for her heart. El jerks out of Will’s mind. She’s thrown back against the wall into a bookshelf.

Everything is sore. Will is screaming so loud. There’s blood trickling down her nose, down both of their noses.

Jonathan goes to Will. He kneels beside him, trying to get him to stop. Will thrashes against his grip. El’s head sags against her chest as the door jerks open.

“You woke it up, you woke it up, _YOU WOKE IT UP!_ ”

_I’m sorry, Will._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are picking up! 
> 
> I’m kind of going off of the assumption that El never told Hopper about Kali, and therefore doesn’t know how to bring it up. Makes things more interesting. 
> 
> Thank you for reading xoxox


	6. Going Gets Tough

“Will! Look at me, baby! C’mon, look at me!”

Joyce is kneeling in front of Will, her hands on his cheeks, and he’s mostly stopped screaming—but now he’s sobbing, eyes shut tight.

Hopper takes it all in—the crying kid, Jonathan and Joyce right beside him, and El.

Jesus.

He kneels beside her. She looks like hell—veins showing in her face, blood seeping from both nostrils just like when she closed the gate... But she blinks blearily up at him. Thank God for that. “I tried to help,” she rasps. “I made it worse. I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_...”

Hopper shakes his head. He feels like screaming. She’s too young for all of this—they both are. “Hey,” he scoops her up and pushes her hair from her eyes. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

For the first time, she doesn’t accept it. “You can’t promise that,” she says. Then she’s out like a light. When Hopper looks up, he sees that Will, too, has passed out in his mother’s arms.

Joyce meets his eyes. “Hop... What are we gonna do?”

* * *

The air is fresh against his face as Lucas bikes down the roads, completing his Saturday morning paper route.

He’s got more shit on his mind than he’d like, but solitary times like this... They’re sacred. He doesn’t want to disturb them with dark thoughts.

Lucas throws the last three papers at the doorsteps on Maple, and then rides up his own driveway.

Inside, his parents and sister are at the kitchen table bickering over something—Lucas is too tired to even ask. He waves weakly and then runs up the stairs.

His room is a mess; clothes hanging out of the drawers, bed unmade... The windows are open, letting in the first breezes of autumn. He doesn’t remember the heat ever breaking so quickly before.

Lucas throws himself down on his mattress and closes his eyes. His back is sweaty, but it’s drying quickly.

“Hey! Lukey!”

Lucas raises his head and glares at his doorway, where Erica is standing with her arms folded over her chest. “Mom says you gotta clean up this mess.”

Lucas groans, because of _course_. Of course she knows, even though he was only gone for half an hour. That woman knows _everything_.

“Can you just go away?”

“Hey, don’t get all mad at me, I’m just telling it like it is.”

Lucas rolls his eyes. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t like bossing him around, he thinks bitterly. “Please,” he says, “ _go away._ ”

Erica frowns, stepping closer. “You okay, Lukey?”

God, he’s not. He’s not okay, not one bit, but he _will not_ —not _ever_ —drop that on his baby sister. She deserves to have a clear head. And so he rolls over and wipes his eyes, and says, “Yeah. Just tired.”

Erica hovers a minute, and then nods. “Mmkay. You should probably eat something.”

That sounds good. “Yeah, I will.”

She’s gone, anyway—running to her own room, probably to play with more of his stolen toys... Not that he minds so much anymore. He’s in high school now. He knows Mike gave most of his stuff to Holly over the summer (though he did keep a whole box of Star Wars collectibles—not to mention the shelf of action figures in his room). He knows they’re all growing up, but sometimes... Sometimes he just wants it to stop. He wants to go back to being twelve, before any of this ever happened. Maybe in one of Hugh Everett’s alternate worlds, they’re still kids, and time moves slower. Maybe El grew up with them instead of in that lab, and Max was always there, and everything is how it’s _supposed_ to be.

Here, it’s pretty damn fucked up.

Lucas sighs. He stares at his ceiling, at the plaster paint flecks that sometimes create faces and shapes in his mind. He’s so _tired_.

Everything with Max is all messed up; they’re fighting even when they’re not, because she’s always on edge. It’s like she was born that way. At first, Lucas had understood—she was new, there were monsters, and her brother was a complete jackass. But it’s been _months_. All they do is fight and make up. He knows it’s not _healthy_ , or _normal_ to bicker over what TV channel they’re on or what was most interesting about a science lecture. She just wants to fight. It’s what she’s good at.

Lucas is good at compromise. He’s good at adjustments and buying her flowers and wearing the right cologne. He’s watched his parents all his life; he’s watched them be _perfect_ with one another. Sure, there are arguments here and there, because nothing is flawless, but they’re usually over big stuff that matters.

He’s never once seen them argue about _what to eat for lunch_.

And Dustin is this other problem; he’s been super moody lately—even more moody than Will. Lucas isn’t sure if it’s jealousy or the teenage hormones everyone always gripes about. All he knows is that he misses his best friend. He misses Saturday night sleepovers and video game matches. He doesn’t even know when all that stopped.

Lucas rolls over in his bed and glares at the red phone on his nightstand. He knows he shouldn’t call, but he also knows how to fix one of his problems. The other, he knows he’ll have to do in person, because it’s more important—but this? This is just like every other time.

The phone rings, and rings, until finally a man’s voice picks up. “Hargrove residence.”

“Hi, um, is Max there?”

* * *

El wakes up in her bed.

It’s morning; sunlight is pooling from the crack in her curtains, spilling out over the wooden floor. She can see dust particles floating in the golden light—circling and settling.

Her head aches, and her back. She feels sick to her stomach as she remembers last night—Will’s screaming, his crying, and the monster.

She knows it wasn’t exactly there. It’s only in his mind. It’s like they’re linked, and the weaker and more tired Will gets, the more the Shadow Monster has control over him. She could see that happening, in some way.

El sits up, groaning a little. Her spine pops and her head feels heavy on her shoulders.

“Morning, kiddo.”

She jumps, whirling around. Hop is sleeping on the chair in the corner of her bedroom, feet resting on the edge of her bed. He’s blinking at her, sitting up.

“How’d you sleep?”

“I don’t remember,” she replies. Her throat stings a little. “What about you?”

Hopper shakes his head. “I didn’t.”

They’re silent. El fiddles with her fingers until Hop speaks again. “So are you gonna tell me, then? What happened last night?”

“Will didn’t tell you?!”

“No. He passed out when you did. As far as I know he’s still sleeping.”

El swallows. “I... I closed the gate.”

Hop nods. “Yeah, I know that. I was there.”

“But there’s...” she closes her eyes briefly, and sees it; glowing orange and throbbing with an unnatural life. “There’s another one.”

He leans closer, now looking stern. “What? Where?”

“In Will’s... in his mind.”

She can’t help it when the tears start falling. She feels like she might vomit. _I’m sorry, Will. I’m sorry._

But Hop isn’t satisfied. “What do you mean, in his head? How could you...?” He trails off. “You can’t—?”

El nods. “Yes. I can.”

“So...” he presses his palms to his eye sockets. “So how does that work, exactly?”

“He let me in.” She doesn’t want to explain the connection because she doesn’t think he’d understand. _She_ doesn’t even understand it.

“I’m gonna need more than that.”

“I could see everything in his head,” she says. “What he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, what he knows. And I saw... I saw the monster there.” Her voice shakes a little, so she bites her lip. “It was _looking_ at me, and then it came at me, so I got out.”

“The monster?” Hop shakes his head. “Like those dogs?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

She hesitates, lip quivering. It had been evil. It _hated_ her like it hated Will.

“ _What_ , El?”

“The Shadow Monster,” she sobs. “The one at the gate. It _wants_ me.”

She’s scared, and maybe he knows that. Hopper stands and moves toward her like he might comfort her, but then steps back. El sucks in a shuddering breath and looks at him through streaming eyes. “What?”

She can see what he’s thinking before he says it. “Maybe we make a mistake... Maybe you should stay here for a while. Stay hidden—”

“No!”

El is out of the bed and in front of him before either of them can even blink. “Jane—”

“Don’t _call_ me that!” She shoves his stomach. She hasn’t felt so angry, so betrayed, since the last time they fought. Doesn’t he get it? Doesn’t he understand that Will needs her? That she can’t _take_ another year? “I’m not doing it again!”

Hopper is starting to get angry. She can sense it in the way that his fists ball, and his jaw locks. “You know it isn’t safe,” he says.

“I’m not a baby!” She wants to scream. “You can’t just keep me here!”

“It would be for your own good—”

“Fuck good!” El stomps her foot. The furniture rattles. Hop’s eyes widen. “I’ll take bad! I’ll take _anything_ as long as it isn’t staying here with _you!_ ”

He leans away like he’s been whipped. Then his shoulders relax. “Fine,” he grabs his jacket. “Fine, you know what? You can cool off here, I’m going to work.”

“You don’t work on weekends,” El snaps.

He grits his teeth. “I’m making an exception.”

She feels her stomach bubble hotly. “Leave, then. I don’t care.”

Hopper shakes his head. He glances at the door, and then back at her. He looks... hurt. And pissed off. “You know I’m only trying to protect you, kid.”

“I don’t need your protection,” _Please don’t do it again. Please don’t keep me here._ “You’re not my father.”

He doesn’t say anything else. She watches him walk out, feels the floor shake a little. Her heart sinks. El slumps onto the bed and pulls her knees to her chest.

But there’s no point in crying.

* * *

Steve falls into his chair and leans back, staring at his desk. There’s not much there—a stack of paperwork, his coffee mug, and his name plaque. It’s a good start, he thinks.

Until more paperwork is thrown down onto the already existing stack. “I need these done by five,” Powell tells him. “And write _neat_ , kid. I don’t wanna see no spelling mistakes, neither.”

Steve nods. Jesus, it’s like high school but reversed. Now, instead of nerds and Nancy doing his homework, he’s the one working away—sometimes even after hours. Well, once so far. And it had _sucked_.

But it had also been worth it, because he’d made Dustin smile, and he’d been on time to pick the kid up from school.

All in a day’s work.

Steve cracks open the first folder and clicks his pen. It’s an incident report from yesterday—some tweakers had caused a fight in the mini mart parking lot, and he and Powell had gone down to break it up before things got ugly. It hadn’t been a pretty picture, but Steve figured things were a lot worse for big city cops.

The bell rings. Steve’s head snaps up as Hopper walks into the department. As per usual, Flo naps the cigarette from between his lips and starts filling him in on everything he’s missed. Hop barely listens. He’s headed straight for Steve.

“I see you started smoking again,” Steve greets.

“I need to talk to you. Alone.”

They go outside. The air is blissfully cool. Steve imagines that if his life had taken a different route, he’d be lounging on a campus at some state university right about now.

“Things are going to shit again,” Hopper tells him—all at once and bitterly.

Steve’s eyes widen. He glances inside the building, where Callahan and Powell are being less than subtle about spying on their exchange. “ _What?_ ”

“Like I said,” Hopper lets out a puff of smoke.

“How do you even know? What happened?!”

“Last night, I was at Joyce’s with the kid, and... something happened. With her, and Will. It’s not over, apparently.”

“So... So...” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to do, exactly?”

“I want you to be on edge,” Hopper says. “Be on the look out for weird shit, keep that bat handy... And keep those kids in check, make sure they don’t do anything stupid.”

Steve nods. “So how’s El?”

“She’s... Don’t worry about it. She’s home—”

“You left her _home? Alone?_ After _that?_ ” He’s very aware that his hands have found their natural place on his hips.

Hopper rolls his eyes. “Relax. She’s perfectly capable of taking care—”

“Oh, don’t you give me that bullshit,” Steve snaps. God, when will adults _learn?!_ “She’s a little girl, man. She’s seen more than a fucking Nom vet. You’re telling me she and Will had some shared episode last night and you just left her in that cabin?!”

Hopper looks him up and down. “Fine,” he says.

Steve blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, ‘fine’.”

“I don’t... understand...”

“Go look after her,” Hopper elaborates. “That’s your assignment for the day. Look after the kid.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Hopper is already walking back inside, taking off his hat. “You wanna lecture me on how to take care of my daughter, then you can put your money where your mouth is. Now _go_.”

Steve throws up his hands as Hopper’s door closes. “Oh, this is great. I go from glorified secretary to glorified _babysitter_.”

* * *

“You called my _stepdad?_ ”

She’s marching up to him with her skateboard under one arm, red hair flying. If she weren’t so angry, he’d be happy to see her; she looks great anyway, in a white blouse and jean shorts, cheeks flushed.

“Yeah, I did,” Lucas frowns, stretching his legs out over the grass. “I mean, I didn’t wanna talk to _him_ —”

“Jesus, Lucas, you can’t just do things like that!”

“What? Call your house?!”

She stops, lips contorting into a frustrated frown. “He’s not... You just can’t call, okay? Not on weekends or after five.”

Lucas finds himself standing. “It’s because I’m black, isn’t it?”

Max steps back, looking shellshocked. “ _What?!_ ”

“Oh, don’t pretend,” Lucas is aware his voice is louder than he wants it to be, but he doesn’t care. The park is virtually empty anyway. “You don’t want me talking to him because you don’t want him to find out I’m not white. Well guess what, Max? I’m not gonna be your teenage rebellion!”

He’s starts to walk away, but she follows after him, sputtering. “My ‘ _teenage rebellion’?!_ ”

“You heard me!”

Max cocks her head in _that way_ , which means he’s really pushed the limit. “Don’t you think you’re being a little ridiculous?”

“I’m not the ridiculous one here,” Lucas says hotly. “This isn’t Romeo and Juliet, okay? Do you know how upset my parents would be if they knew I was dating a girl who’s ashamed of me?”

Max’s eyes widen. All of the sudden her anger fades. She grabs his wrist. “Lucas, I’m not—I’m not ashamed of you. At _all_. I... I just don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, you did.”

He’s deflating, too. Max looks down at her feet. “He’s not a good person,” she says after a minute. “It’s not your skin, it’s that you’re... You. A boy. Interested in me. A girl.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Interested?”

“Attracted to,” she corrects, stepping closer—so close there’s no more space. She kisses him, and it’s like fireworks exploding in his brain and chest. He wraps his arm around her waist.

It’s so easy to go from mad to puppy love; easy, exhausting, and... exhilarating.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Tell me whatcha think! Thanks for reading!


	7. Freakin’ Out The Neighbourhood

He wakes up shaking.

It’s not an unusual occurrence, but it hasn’t been so bad in a long time. He feels like he might retch; stomach turning and mind spinning, he tries to slip out of bed.

But he can’t, because his mom is right there—one of the uncomfortable wooden kitchen chairs pulled up beside him, her arm stretched over his legs.

She looks more tired than she has in a while, which only makes Will feel worse, because she’d been getting better. She really had. It had been really bad for the first few months; she’d started smoking more, talking less, and working too much. They had all slipped into their own busy routines—school, work, socialisation—to put the past behind them. It felt so mechanical, so unnatural.

It had only been around March that they’d finally snapped out of it. Suddenly they were making an effort to be home in time for dinner, because they weren’t alone. There was El, and Chief Hopper (who, sometime along the way had become ‘Jim’ to Will, somehow). There were shared pains and new things to talk about, and there was room to grow.

The world hadn’t seemed so suffocating.

Will throws himself back against his mattress. This is all his fault. It always has been; he got taken, he got _infected_ , and then he got possessed—and it’s not over. It never, ever will be, for any of them.

He closes his eyes, wanting to cry, but he doesn’t; he can’t muster the tears and he doesn’t think he’s worthy of self-pity.

He’d hurt El last night. He’d been stupid—stupid to keep it to himself and stupid to think she could help.

It’s worse now. The dull throbbing that had been constantly present in the back of his head has now been amplified by ten. He feels sick. He feels like his chest is gaping open.

“Will?”

He starts a little, not realising he’d woken her. His mom wipes her mouth, though there isn’t any drool present. “Hey, sweetie. How’re you feeling?”

He fights down the unexpected urge to scream at her that _he’s not okay at all, and if she could fucking see she’d know that, maybe if she fucking cared enough, maybe she’d see he just wants to die because that would solve everyone’s problems_ —and smiles just a little. He knows it doesn’t reach his eyes, because inside he’s panicking at his near-outburst. “Okay.”

She scoots a little closer and smooths back his hair. He’s so sweaty and clammy that he almost can’t feel it. “I’m gonna get you something to drink,” she says, “then we can talk, okay?”

He nods. He doesn’t want to talk. “Okay.”

After that she’s gone. Will sits up in bed and surveys the damage to his room. It’s not so bad; most of the mess is his own doing. The one big problem is the wrecked bookshelf in the corner. There’s a broken snow globe on the ground, scattered books, and his terrarium was spilled, too.

He forces himself to breathe. He doesn’t want to be angry at El. He knows it wasn’t her fault. Why is he so pissed off?

 _Will_.

He goes rigid, spine straightening automatically, eyes wide. He can almost sense it there, hovering over his _house_ , over so many others.

There’s something in his head and it isn’t Eleven.

* * *

Muffled voices stream through the cracks in her bedroom door. Steve stares, biting his nails, before raising his fist to knock.

He doesn’t get the chance. “Come in,” she says.

Steve swallows. He opens the door, only to find her piled on her bed with blankets and pillows, hair messed up, her eyes a little bloodshot. She looks like a regular kid—maybe a sick one, sure—but nothing like what he sometimes expects to find with Eleven (even though he really never is sure just what those expectations are).

They’ve never really been alone together. She’s always been mingled up with the other gremlins, listening while they jabber aimlessly on.

“Hey,” he says, hoping that his voice sounds normal.

El smiles a little. “Hi, Steve.”

“So... Your old man didn’t wanna leave you alone after all,” he continues, even though she already knows that. “I figure we can just keep it chill, watch some movies, eat some junk food. That sound good?”

“Okay,” she shrugs.

He nods, watching her for another second longer as her attention shifts back to the television. He watches how she seems to fade out a little, absorbed in the pictures, eyes still graced with new unseen images.

He finds himself cutting the crusts off the sandwiches he makes—the way Dustin likes them. Peanut butter on both sides with the thinnest layer of jam between.

_God, I can’t believe I know that._

At first, with Dustin, it had been weird. Not weird in an awkward way, more... the world had been falling apart and for some reason fate had seen fit that their paths were thrown together. And it hadn’t just been with Dustin—it was with all those other kids, with Nancy, with Jonathan... Hell, he even felt some vague attachment to Mrs. Byers and Hopper.

He remembers the first night after the fight; remembers feeling cold, even huddled up with all of those warm bodies. He remembers detangling himself from a pile of kid-limbs and going out to the back porch for a smoke, feeling empty in his stomach, though his mind was full of thought. She’d trailed out after him—Nancy had—thin and pale, with her head ducked in some sort of permanent shame. They hadn’t talked much; their words had been short and stiff, speaking of the kids. Quiet thank-yous. Obligatory apologies.

It had been the silence that still haunts him now. It had been the way she looked at him, the way she _still_  does; full of so many sorrys and goodbyes, so much guilt.

Until yesterday. It’d been a while since he’d seen awe on Nancy Wheeler’s face when looking at him—in fact, he’d only seen it twice; once, when she’d first caught his eye in the hallway (she’d looked him up and down, but not with a heavy hunger like most girls—it was almost like she was relishing in the new of him; how fresh and unexplored he was). The second time had been two years later, his junior year, when he’d gone back to Jonathan’s and ended up fighting off an inter-dimensional monster.

Steve stops for a moment, hand on the peanut butter jar lid, and realises that somewhere along the way it became _Nancy_ instead of _Nance_ and _Jonathan_ instead of _Byers_.

He feels a chill run down his spine.

With Jonathan... Steve doesn’t know what to think. What happened between him and Nancy was virtually expected. It was almost cliche, come to think of it; well-off girl from a good neighbourhood meets loner boy from the wrong side of the tracks and falls in love with him, much to the disdain of her perky suburban boyfriend-turned-deputy.

But Steve doesn’t feel disdain. He feels almost apathetic about it all; it was bound to happen. Their stereotypical fates.

He’d wanted to hate Jonathan at first; he _had_ , really. But that had melted out of him with every blow he’d taken to his face, replaced with regret and even more guilt to top it off. He hadn’t basked in the glory of winning over Nancy, because he’d known it had only been a hair-inch call. He knows that the year they’d spent together had been full of longing stares and hidden smiles and knots in stomachs. He wasn’t oblivious—

“Steve?”

“Jesus!”

He jumps, nearly throwing the butter knife in his hand. It clatters out of his palm instead, landing on the countertop.

El winces. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he taps his fingers on the counter and adopts what he hopes is a casual stance. “You?”

She looks like she’s fighting a smile. “Fine. Hungry, I guess.”

“Well, that’s good, because I have two peanut butter sandwiches ready to eat.”

* * *

“Jonathan?”

She leans over, peering through the half-curtained window. The inside of the Byers home looks perfectly normal; no drawn vines or Christmas lights... Nothing weird.

But Nancy can’t shake the feeling she’s had all night and morning, ever since Will. She knows it was probably just a bad dream—residual fears leftover from last year. He’d had a panic attack, probably. She _knows_ it isn’t more than that.

But then the door opens, and her boyfriend looks like he’s walked through hell, and that knowledge dissipates like it was made of smoke.

“Jonathan,” her eyes widen as she takes in his tousled hair, and the bags under his eyes. “Jesus... What happened?!”

He grabs her wrist and pulls her inside, gently, and then shuts the door. Joyce is in the kitchen cooking—not well, but she’s been getting better—and Will is nowhere in sight.

Jonathan calls something to his mom that she can’t really hear, because her ears are ringing and her heart is pounding. All she wants to do is jerk out of his grip and run back to her car, but she can’t. She’s paralysed.

They’re in his room. She’s sitting on his bed. He’s telling her about last night, about Will’s latest episode, and she _hears_ it but... It doesn’t sink in until he’s finished.

“So...” She closes her eyes. _Barb. Mike. Her parents._ “It’s not over?”

“No.” Jonathan lowers himself beside her. “I’m sorry, Nance.”

“It’s not your fault,” she gives a painful smile and takes his hand, but she can’t even feel herself do it. “We’ll figure this out, okay?”

“Yeah,” he stares down at his lap. “Yeah, totally.”

She can’t do it again. She knows that. She knows it’s only a matter of time before she breaks— _really_ breaks. The nightmares, the crying, the thoughts... She can’t handle that all over again. It’s only just started to get better.

“What are you guys gonna do?”

“We were thinking of maybe taking him back to Chicago, since no one can help him here in Hawkins.”

_Yeah, and who’s fault is that? Yours, Nancy Wheeler. You did this._

She swallows. “That’s a good idea.”

Jonathan squeezes her hand. “We’ll be fine. We’ve made it this far, right?”

It takes all of her energy to nod. “Right.”

He smiles at her. “Stay for breakfast?”

* * *

He’s out of breath by the time he reaches the park.

It’s starting to fill—kids are screaming on the play-structures and their moms are walking around with strollers or other moms or whatever. Dustin kicks his bike out from under himself and runs toward the basketball court, heaving a little.

Lucas is making shot after shot, to the delight of what looks to be a five year old. The kid claps his hands, which makes Lucas grin—until he sees Dustin.

“Dustin! Man, what happened?”

He’s got his hands on his knees. Dustin holds up a finger, and then takes a deep breath. “We gotta go,” he rasps. “Mike said something’s up with Will.”

Lucas drops the basketball. They’re both tearing down the hill together an instant later. Lucas reaches his bike first, which isn’t far from where Dustin left his own.

They bike down the streets together, going as fast as they both can.

He wishes his life were easier. He wishes his dad were still around, and that his friends were fine, and that all of this bullshit would just stop. Will doesn’t deserve this. It’s so ridiculously fucked up it actually pains Dustin physically.

They’ve grown closer over this past year—being the only single guys in the group. It’s weird how quickly that seemed to happen, but it did, and Dustin can’t believe _he’s_ the single one.

Will... that was expected, because Will likes boys. Dustin thinks maybe he’s the only one who actually knows that. He’s seen the way Will’s gaze has lingered a little too long on Mike’s face, or the way his cheeks flame when some built dude gets out of the pool. Everyone else is always so wrapped up in their own shit, and since Dustin’s only shit is the shit he builds for himself, he’s pretty much home-free compared to the rest of them.

And so instead of going over to Lucas’s house on Fridays, he’s been going to Will’s. Lucas can call Max if he’s lonely. Dustin can even call Steve. They all have someone except for Will—which is really, _really_ fucked up considering that they all love him so much. They’ve practically killed themselves trying to keep him safe. _Twice_.

Dustin had brought this up to Will about two months ago, in the middle of watching The Breakfast Club. He’d added, not so subtly, “Which is why I don’t get it—you know, why you won’t just say you like boys.”

It had sounded stupid, but the reality of the situation had been much more extensive; Dustin had mulled over the best way to word it for months—what night, what he’d do if Will flipped out, what they should watch...

But Will hadn’t flipped out; he’d frozen—wide eyed and terrified. Then he’d started to cry.

Dustin is probably the best at comforting. He knows that. He gets it from his mom. He’s aware that comforting is sort of an art; there are many ways to do it, and it varies from person to person. Sometimes comforting means fighting, or yelling. Other times, like in Will’s case, it means hugging. Physical contact, so that he doesn’t think he’s _gross_ or _abnormal_.

Dustin had listened while Will rambled on about how sorry he was for liking boys, how he knew he was a freak, how he understood if Dustin didn’t want to be his friend anymore. To all of that, Dustin had laughed. It really _had_ been funny. To think that _one_ thing, which wasn’t even bad, was gonna drive any of them away, was _hilarious_.

After that, there had been no boundaries between him and Will. Dustin had freely poured his heart out, confessing that he was jealous of their friends, that he’d liked Max at first and still resented Lucas a bit... it was nice, having someone who _wasn’t_ Steve to talk to.

Will’s sort of become an unexpected brother, just like Steve. Not that they hadn’t been brothers before... It’s just that it feels more solid now.

Which is why he’s biking down the dirt road to Will’s driveway as fast as he can, heart pumping, ready to kill or maim or yell a lot.

Whatever it fucking takes.

* * *

She watches as his eyes start to droop, and his head lolls. Every time he snaps out of it, El bites back a scream.

She makes him hot chocolate and puts on a slow movie, and waits. Impatiently.

When he finally falls asleep, she waits five whole minutes before even moving. With the eighth snore, she lunges for her shoes and backpack.

She rushes out the cabin door, brisk winds slapping her cheeks, and hurries down the stairs. She grabs her skateboard from the bottom step and marches through the woods, mulch crunching beneath her feet.

She has to go. She knows that more than anything. She knows it because she can’t _feel_ him anymore; the buzz that normally occupies the back of her head is just gone, like someone put up a wall and she can’t break through no matter how hard she tries.

El forges ahead, brow furrowed with frustration, and then she trips.

Her head smacks against something hard, and...

Darkness.

* * *

Breakfast passes in silence.

Will looks like shit, Nancy assesses. His hair is wet from a hasty shower and his eyes droop. She feels sorry for him, wants to comfort him, but doesn’t know how.

It’s only when they’re finished that Joyce starts asking him questions. _What happened last night? What did you see?_

Will’s answers are brief. He’s unyielding. Nancy pushes back from the table and starts gathering the leftover food—there’s so much of it, Jesus...

“Will, baby,” Joyce grabs Will’s hand. “I need you to be honest with me, okay?”

Will’s gaze shifts between his mother and his brother. “I am. It was _nothing_ , okay? Just a stupid episode.”

Nancy feels her stomach turn. There’s something not right about all of this. She can feel it in her bones.

“Will, you were screaming,” Joyce takes a breath. “El was hurt. I know you don’t want to-to worry anyone, but—”

“Mom, seriously!” Will shoots out of his chair. It’s so bizarre that they all stand there gaping. “I’m fine! Just leave me _alone!_ ”

With that, he’s running to his bedroom. The door slams. Nancy winces.

“Um...” she surveys the food, which she can’t put away without foil. There is none. “I-You’re out of foil. I’m gonna go—”

“Nancy, sweetie, that’s okay—”

“No, really,” Nancy smiles, even though she knows she’s crying. “It’ll be five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

“Nancy, there’s some on top of—”

The door slams behind her. Nancy wipes her eyes hastily as she hurries over to her car. Her hands shake while fumbling with her keys. _Jesus Christ, Jesus..._

She doesn’t feel right, running. This doesn’t feel like her. She doesn’t know what’s _happening_. Last year, she would have stayed by Jonathan. She would have busted her ass trying to help Joyce, and overworked herself to the point of bathroom panic attacks and breaking up with her boyfriend.

But she runs anyway; ducking into her car and speeding out, cheeks hot with humiliation and anger. She keeps driving until she starts to cry so hard she can’t see anymore.

Nancy pulls off the road, which is completely vacant. She doesn’t know exactly where she is, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she walked the fuck away.

Nancy sags against the side of her car, sobbing. God. She can’t believe she’s being so fucking selfish—she’s so afraid of losing something else ( _someone_ else) that she can’t even handle a teenage boy acting out.

Nancy makes to turn back, to get in her car, but that’s when she hears it; leaves rustling, something moving—

She doesn’t remember anything after the sharp impact her skull takes from behind.

* * *

Max trudges down the sidewalk. It’s a nice day, she’s decided, even though it didn’t start out so great.

She hates her life.

Well, maybe not all of it—but enough. Lucas is good. Her friends are good. Skateboarding is great. But the rest...

The rest is bruises on her mother’s skin and her douchebag step-brother coming over for dinner on Wednesday nights. It’s her step-dad screaming at her about her boyfriend. It’s hiding letters from her real dad in her pockets and trying to convince her mom to leave Neil. It never works, though, because even if he treats her like shit and beats the fuck out of her, she loves him.

Max thinks maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome, but then she remembers that her mom has bridge club and bible study, and nosy friends who ask her where she gets those marks on her arm. Iron deficiency, her mother always replies, and Max practically rolls out of her window.

“Hey, kid!”

Max turns, brow furrowed. She peers into the dark alleyway, frowning. She’s about to write it off as a tweaker when she feels an arm snake around her waist.

 _Oh, fuck._  

 


End file.
